n 


J(iSHme€APBvPERS, 

i';   ■•  A.      ■  \^J1 ■ 


Lei QH  Hunt." 


Leigh    Hunt. 
From  Hutton's  "  Literary  Landmarks  of  London." 


THE  WISIIING-CAP  PAPERS. 


(0 


Mr.  Hunt  is  a  man  of  the  most  indisputably  superior  worth ;  a  Man  of 
Genius  in  a  very  strict  sense  of  that  word,  and  in  all  senses  which  it  bears 
or  implies  ;  of  brilliant,  varied  gifts  ;  of  graceful  fertility  ;  of  clearness,  loving- 
ness,  truthfulness ;  of  childlike,  open  character ;  also  of  most  pure  and  even 
exemplary  private  deportment ;  a  man  who  can  be  other  than  loved  only  by 
those  who  have  not  seen  him,  or  seen  him  from  a  distance  through  a  false 
medium. 

TliOMAS    CaRLVLE. 
(2) 


THE 


Wishing-Cap  Papers, 


BY 


LEIGH    HUNT. 


NOW   FIRST    COLLECTED. 


Though  I  cannot  promise  as  much  entertainment,  or  as  much  elegance 
as  others  have  done,  yet  the  reader  may  be  assured  he  shall  have  as  much 
of  both  as  I  can.  He  shall,  at  least,  find  me  alive  while  I  study  his 
entertainment ;  for  I  solemnly  assure  him  I  was  never  yet  possessed  of  the 
secret  at  once  of  writing  and  sleeping. 

Goldsmith. 


BO.STON  : 

LEE    AND    SHEPARD,    PUBLISHERS. 

New  York: 

lee,  .siif.pard  and  dim. ingham. 

'873- 


VJSl 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  187a, 

By   lee   and   SHEPARD, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Stereotyped  at  the  Boston  Stereotype  Foundry, 
19  Spring  Lane. 


TO    THE    READER. 


Not  only  those  who,  like  Lord  Macaulay,  "  have  a 
kindness  for  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt,"  but  all  lovers  of  the 
pleasant  art  of  essay  writing,  should  find  much  to 
amuse  and  interest  them  in  this  volume,  which  con- 
tains articles,  hitherto  uncollected,  on  an  agreeable 
variety  of  subjects,  from  the  Indicator,  Examiner, 
Literary  Examiner,  Companion,  Tatler,  London 
Journal,  Monthly  Repository,  New  Monthly  Maga- 
zine, and  Edinburgh  Review. 

Most  of  the  Wishing-Cap  Papers  are  written  in 
Leigh  Hunt's  happiest  manner,  and  abound  in  rich 
and  felicitous  descriptions  of  nature,  in  loving  com- 
ments on  favorite  authors  and  books,  and  in  thought- 
ful and  good-natured  speculations  on  human  life. 
Indeed,  some  of  the  essays  in  the  collection  are, 
it  seems  to  me,  more  terse  in  style,  more  vigor- 
ous in  thought,  and  more  masculine  in  tone, 
than  even  the  best  papers  in  the  Indicator  *  or  the 

*  Not  the  original  edition  of  the  Indicator,  but  a  selection  froin  that  work 
made  bylbe  author  himself. 


6  TO    THE    READER. 

Seer ;  they  show,  moreover,  that  the  genial  essay- 
ist had  "true  capabilities  of  wrath,"  and  could  battle 
bravely  for  the  right,  as  the  hacks  of  the  Toiy  press 
learned  to  their  cost.  If,  as  M.  Taine  asserts,  wit  is 
"■  the  art  of  stating  things  in  a  pleasant  way,"  this  is 
a  very  witty  book,  and  Leigh  Hunt  is  a  great  wit,  for 
almost  all  his  sentences  are  charming  examples  of 
the  brilliant  Frenchman's  definition  of  wit. 

Through  the  courtesy  of  Mr.  James  T.  Fields,  I 
have  had  the  opportunity  of  consulting  Leigh  Hunt's 
own  copies  of  the  Tatler  and  the  Literary  Exami- 
ner, containing  some  marginal  emendations  in  the 
author's  own  handwriting,  to  which  the  readers 
of  the  Wishing-Cap  Papers  are  indebted  for  sundry 
valuable  corrections,  and  for  a  few  little  characteristic 
touches  added  to  several  of  the  chapters. 

J.  E.  B. 

Melrose,  December  4,  1872. 


CONTENTS. 


THE   WISHING-CAP. 

PAGE 

I.    Introduction. n 

II.    A  Walk  in  Covent  Garden.          ...  22 

III.  Piccadilly  and  the  West  End.          .        .  33 

IV.  A  Walk  in  the  City 43 

V.  Whitehall 52 

VI.  St.  James's  Park 64 

VII.     Spring 74 

VIII.     Rainy-day  Poetry 81 

IX.     Eating  and  Drinking.          ....  89 

X.    The  Valley  of  Ladies 97 

XI.     Love  and  the  Country 106 


MISCELLANEOUS    ESSAYS    AND   SKETCHES. 

Personal  Reminiscences  of  Lords.  .        .        -117 

A  Letter  :  On,  To,  and  By  the  Book-Personage 

known  by  the  Name  of  "  The  Reader."        .        124 

Dr.  Doddridge  and  the  Ladies 138 

Confectionekv. 154 

A  Treatise  on  Devils 160 

7 


8 


CONTENTS. 


A  FEW  Words  on  Angels 

Child-bed  :  A  Prose  Poem 

Rousseau's  Pygmalion 

On   the   Suburbs    of    Genoa    and    the    Country 

about  London. 

Coffee-Houses  and  Smoking 

Wit  Made  Easy,  or  a  Hint  to  Word-catchers. 

The  Fencing-Master's  Choice 

Twilight  Accused  and  Defended. 
Table  Wits  :  A  Breakfast.     . 
Going  to  the  Play  again. 
Ladies'  Bonnets  in  the  Theatre. 
Moliere's  Tartuffe.    . 
Hereditary  House  of  Players.     . 

Madame  Pasta 

Madame  Pasta  in  the  White  and  Red 
On  French  Opera  Dancing. 
Recollections  of  Old  Actors. 
Clarendon's  History  of  the  Rebellion. 
George  Sel\vyn  and  his  Contemporaries. 


Rose. 


184 
201 

202 

213 
246 

2S7 
262 
266 

278 
288 

295 
29S 

3" 
317 
331 
337 
348 
360 
388 


THE  WISHING-CAP. 


"At  Maiano  I  wrote  the  articles  which  appeared  in  the  Examitier,  under  the 
title  of  the  Wishing-Cap.  Probably  the  reader  knows  nothing  about  them  ; 
but  tliey  contained  some  germs  of  a  book  he  may  not  be  unacquainted  with, 
called  Tlie  Tmvn^  as  well  as  some  articles  since  approved  of  in  the  volume  en- 
titled Men,  Women,  aftd  Books. 

"The  title  was  very  genuine.  When  I  put  on  my  cap,  and  pitched  myself  in 
imagination  into  the  thick  of  Covent  Garden,  the  pleasure  I  received  was  so 
vivid  —  I  turned  the  comer  of  a  street  so  much  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things, 
and  was  so  tangibly  present  to  the  pavement,  the  shop  windows,  the  people,  and 
a  thousand  agreeable  recollections  which  looked  me  naturally  in  the  face,  that 
sometimes  when  I  walk  there  now,  the  impression  seems  hardly  more  real.  I 
used  to  feel  as  if  I  actually  pitched  my  soul  there,  and  that  spiritual  eyes  might 
have  seen  it  shot  over  from  Tuscany,  into  York  Street,  like  a  rocket.  It  is 
much  pleasanter,  however,  on  waking  up,  to  find  soul  and  body  together  in  one's 
native  land :  yes,  even  than  among  thy  olives  and  vines,  Boccaccio  !  "  —  The 
AMtobiography  ofLKiou  Hunt. 

[Of  course  none  of  the  Wishing-Caps  which  the  author  collected  and  pub- 
lished in  Men,  ll^ometi,  and  Books,  are  included  in  this  volume.  We  have, 
however,  inserted  the  articles  on  different  parts  of  London.  It  is  true,  most 
of  the  persons  and  places  mentioned  in  these  graceful  and  characteristic  little 
papers  are  more  fully  described  in  The  Town.  But  "the  first  sprightly  run- 
nings "  are  in  the  earlier  sketches,  which  have  also  more  gusto,  and  are  richer 
in  personal  reminiscences  than  the  chapters  on  the  same  localities  in  that  book. 
—  Ed.] 


THE  WISHING-CAP. 


No.  I. 
INTRODUCTION. 

I  have  cut  through  the  air  like  a  falcon.  I  would  have  it  seem  strange  to 
you.  But  'tis  true.  I  would  not  have  you  believe  it  neither.  But  'lis  miracu- 
lous and  true.     Desire  to  see  you  brought  me.  —  Decker's  Old  Fortuiiatus. 

AS  when  a  traveller,  long  expected,  and  yet  but 
half  expected  from  abroad,  suddenly  enters 
a  room  full  of  his  old  friends,  instantly  all  the  room 
is  in  motion  towards  him,  mouths  arc  opened,  hands 
are  stretclied  forward,  card  tables  deserted,  and  old 
ladies  left  in  a  state  of  itiygtcracy  :  he,  with  all  his 
feelings  on  tiptoe,  and  happy  to  be  torn  in  pieces, 
grasps  as  many  hands  as  he  can  at  once,  turns  to  this 
friend,  makes  half  an  answer  to  that,  cuts  short  the 
questions  of  soft  lips,  and  revels  in  all  the  rewards  of 
the  meritoriousness  of  al)scnce  ;  thus,  I  trust,  my  old 
friends  of  the  Examiner  will  feel  with  me,  when  they 
sec  the  hand  at  the  bottom  of  this  paper.* 

•  Leigh  Hunt's  well-known  lignature  —  tST-     Ed. 

II 


12  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

After  a  thousand  questions  are  asked  on  both  sides, 
delightful  memories  brought  up,  and  others  that  will 
not  bear  touching  upon  spared,  I  hear  the  most  good- 
natured  person  in  the  company  exclaim,  "  Bless  me  ! 
you  are  not  at  all  changed."  I  do  bless  thee,  thou 
handsomest  of  thy  sex.  Between  you  and  me,  I 
should  not  care  how  dilapidated  I  looked  with  some 
persons  in  a  private  meeting,  —  and  for  a  short  time. 
I  could  make  a  merit  of  the  silver  hairs  that  come 
amongst  my  black  ones,  and  expect  a  double  tender- 
ness of  look  for  my  sunken  checks.  But  after  all,  one 
does  not  like  to  grow  old.  Man  is  in  no  haste  to  be 
venerable.  The  fact  is,  I  am  not  old,  nor  do  I  wish 
anybody  to  believe  that  I  am.  But  at  forty  there  is  a 
pleasure  in  aflecting  age  on  purpose  to  be  disbelieved. 
(I  say  forty,  because  I  am  only  nine  and  thirty.)  We 
talk  of"  declining  into  the  vale  of  years,"  that  people 
may  say,  "  You  decline  into  the  vale  of  years  !  "  and 
that  we  may  be  complimented  on  the  youthfulness  of 
our  appearance.  The  provocation  lies  in  saying  we 
are  middle-aged.  It  is  a  malignant  benediction  of  the 
poets,  — 

"God  bless  your  middle-ageish  face  1 " 

I  believe  there  are  many  persons  abroad  who  regret 
the  not  having  returned  to  their  native  country  in 
time,  but  who  would  rather  be  shut  up  for  life  in  a 
German  fortress,  than  appear  again  in  a  public  place 
in  England.  Thirty  and  forty  years  ago  they  were 
Adonises,  and  cannot,  for  the  life  of  them,  take  to  be- 
ing reverend.  Being  at  a  distance  from  home,  and 
not  having  contemporary  faces  to  compare  with,  they 
try  to  think  that  everybody  grows  old  but  themselves. 


THE    WISHIXG-CAP,  I3 

They  would  fancy  that  the  shore  moves,  and  not 
they.  I  own  to  this  weakness,  though  I  never  was  an 
Adonis,  nor  ever  shall  be,  which  is  more. 

But  I  can  conceive  no  circumstances  but  one,  that 
at  any  time  of  life  would  conquer  in  me  the  desire  to 
be  among  my  old  scenes  and  friends.  I  used  to  think 
that  with  all  my  love  of  particular  places,  I  should 
not  care  where  I  went,  provided  I  could  take  my 
friends  with  me.  But  I  find  it  otherwise.  The  fine 
buildings  in  Genoa  made  me  long  to  take  a  walk  down 
a  London  alley.  The  vineyaids  and  olives  of  Tus- 
cany gave  me  a  calenture  for  my  old  green  fields. 
Walking  about  under  the  galleries  and  government 
offices  of  Florence,  I  yearned  infinitely  to  be  at  the 
Examiner  ofiice  in  Covcnt  Garden  ;  and  so  here  I 
am. 

But  it  will  be  asked  whether  I  am  really  here  ; 
whether  I  am  arrived  in  propria  persona^  —  come 
home,  —  seated  visibly  in  the  Examiner  office. 
Doubtless  I  am.  I  have  just  poked  the  fire,  and  am 
toasting  a  foot  upon  each  hob,  with  the  Morning 
Chronicle  in  my  hand.  Yesterday  I  was  in  all  parts 
of  the  town.  If  my  presence  is  doubted,  and  the 
gentleman  I  run  against  yesterday  in  Fleet  Street  has 
any  manliness  in  him,  he  will  come  forward  and 
state  that  I  nearly  knocked  the  breath  out  of  his  body 
in  turning  the  corner  of  Shoe  Lane. 

I  am  as  surely  here  in  London  as  I  shall  be  in 
Madrid,  in  Athens,  in  North  or  South  America,  when 
I  inform  the  reader  to  that  effect :  perhaps  I  shall  be 
in  one  of  these  places  to-morrow.  Incredulous  read- 
ers may  smile,  especially  when  I  inform  them,  that 


14  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

SO  far  from  condescending  in  general  to  travel  on  foot, 
I  fly.  But  they  would  be  hard  put  to  it  to  prove  the 
contrary.  Let  them  first  account  for  the  power  of 
the  human  mind  to  fancy  itself  in  Arabia,  and  tlien 
they  may  undertake  to  prove  it  impossible  for  me,  by 
dint  of  a  thought,  actually  to  be  there.  Cogitation 
has  been  held  by  some  to  be  nothing  but  local  mo- 
tion. Their  motion  was  a  vulgar  one,  being  as  dif- 
ferent from  mine  as  that  of  a  telegraph  is  from  light- 
ning; but  I  desire  to  know  how  an  uninitiated  per- 
son is  to  pronounce  these  travels  of  mine  impossible  ; 
how  he  is  to  prove,  and  be  assured  that  when  I  fancy 
myself  in  Arabia,  I,  that  is,  my  personal  conscious- 
ness, the  best  part  of  me,  the  antJiia  of  my  mundus, 
the  true  immaterial  life  and  soul,  of  which  my  body 
is  but  a  vulgar  symbol,  is  not,  at  that  moment,  to  all 
intents  and  purposes,  in  Arabia.  "  I  pause  for  a  re- 
ply," as  a  man  says,  when  he  expects  none.  "  I 
think,  therefore  I  am,"  said  the  French  philosopher : 
now  I  think  I  am  in  Arabia,  therefore  I  am  there.  I 
beg  to  know  the  difference  between  these  two  proposi- 
tions. 

I  pitch  myself  wherever  I  please,  like  a  rocket  or 
a   falling  star. 

In  short,  let  those  who  doubt  my  reasoning  look  at 
my  Cap.  With  them,  anything  that  is  visible  puts 
an  end  to  mystery.  This  is  an  age  of  mechanism  and 
manufacture  and,  therefore,  they  say,  there  can  be 
no  longer  anything  fanciful.  Ecce  signum.  This 
Cap  is  one  out  of  several  now  existing,  and  by  no 
means  the  most  extraordinary  of  its  kind.  It  is  not 
the  famous  Wishing-Cap  of  Fortunatus,  but  a  poor 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  I5 

relation.  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  that,  and  the  Purse 
into  the  bargain.  He  is  in  the  habit  of  going  to 
court  in  it,  to  refresh  his  good  opinion  of  mankind. 
The  two  finest  Wishing-Caps  are  in  possession  of 
Mr.  Wordsworth  and  Mr.  Coleridge.  The  one  be- 
longing to  the  latter  is  a  great  curiosity,  and  carried 
him  into  those  dreadful  seas  where  he  saw  the  An- 
cient Mariner.  I  look  upon  it  with  more  reverence 
than  all  the  curiosities  in  the  Museum.  Mr.  Southey 
has  one,  with  which  he  has  taken  some  pretty  long 
flights  into  the  East.  I  wish  he  would  relate  his  trav- 
els in  prose  instead  of  verse. 

I  do  not  know  to  what  class  to  refer  the  Cap  of  my 
friend  Elia,  of  the  London  Magazine  ;  certainly  not 
to  a  modern  one,  with  bells  to  it,  much  in  use  at 
courts,  though  it  has  a  considerable  resemblance  to 
one  of  the  same  cut,  worn  by  a  retainer  to  the  famous 
King  Lear,  and  also  to  that  other  belonging  to  the 
celebrated  Yorick.  I  mean  Hamlet's  Yorick.  No- 
bod)'  who  hears  him  in  it  will  say,  "  Where  be  your 
gibes  now.-*  Your  flashes  of  merriment  that  were 
wont  to  set  the  table  in  a  roar?"  Nobody  who  sees 
well  into  the  stuiVof  it,  will  take  it  for  any  other  than 
a  Cap  fit  for  the  wisest  head  in  England,  provided  the 
rain  is  to  rain  every  day.  Having  less  thought,  but 
stouter  muscles,  I,  for  my  part,  must  still  endeavor, 
till  I  die,  to  push  the  world  a  little  farther  into  the  '| 
sunshine.  It  is  for  this  reason  I  am  in  all  parts  of  it ; 
one  of  hundreds  of  beings  who  are  trying  to  furnish 
philosopliers  with  a  lever. 

But  the  reader   must   know  that  this  Cap  of  mine 
not  only  carries  mc  where  I  please,  like  that  of  For- 


1 6  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

tunatus,  and  introduces  me  to  the  invisible  world,  like 
the  Caps  of  the  mountain  spirits.  It  makes  as  little 
of  time  as  it  docs  of  space.  It  pitches  me  back  into 
ages.  I  make  love  very  often  a  hundred  years  ago, 
and  may  dine  to-morrow  at  the  table  of  Anacreon. 
My  tea  I  am  fond  of  taking  with  Pope  and  the  Miss 
Blounts.  A  person  in  Tuscany  often  rouses  me  out 
of  the  club,  at  the  Mermaid  in  Cornhill,  where  I  am 
listening  to  Beaumont  and  Ben  Jonson.  I  make  noth- 
ing of  being  in  Arcady  at  twelve  o'clock,  and  with 
Horace  between  two  and  three.  I  meet  old  King 
Ban  "  on  the  top  of  Fiesole."  And  this  is  as  real  as 
all  the  rest.  It  was  thought  a  modest  request  in  the 
two  lovers  to  say,  — 

"Ye  gods,  annihilate  but  space  and  time, 
And  make  two  lovers  happy."  * 

But  let  the  reader  peruse  only  two  or  three  meta- 
physical treatises  (one  of  them  being  on  time),  and 
then  say  if  it  is  not  easy  to  annihilate  both.  It  is  a 
vulgar  supposition,  that  one  man  of  forty  and  another 
man  of  forty  are  of  the  same   age  ;  and  that  if  two 

*  Readers  of  Carlyle  will  remember  HerrTeufelsdiockh's  philosophical  specu- 
latii  ns  upon  space  and  time  in  one  of  the  most  stupendous  chapters  of  Sartor 
Resartus.  "  Fortunatus  hadawishing-hat,"  says  the  learned  Professor,  "which 
when  he  put  on,  and  wished  himself  anywhere,  behold  lie  was  there.  By  this 
means  had  Fortunatus  triumphed  over  space,  he  had  anniliilnted  space;  for  him 
there  was  no  Where,  but  all  was  Here.  Were  a  halter  to  establish  himself  in  the 
Wahngasse  of  Weissnichtwo,  and  make  felts  of  this  sort  for  all  mankind,  what  a 
world  we  should  have  of  it !  Still  stranger,  should,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street,  another  hatter  establish  himself;  and,  as  his  fellow-craftsman  made  space- 
annihilating  hats,  make  time-annihilating !  Of  both  would  I  purchase,  were  it 
with  my  last  groschen ;  but  chiefly  of  this  latter.  I'o  clap  on  your  felt,  and, 
simply  by  wishing  that  you  were  Anywhere,  straightway  to  be  there  !  Next  to 
clap  on  your  other  felt,  and,  simply  by  wishing  that  you  were  dnywhe>t,  straight- 
way to  be  then  1"  —  Ed. 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  1 7 

persons  set  out  at  four  o'clock  to  dinner,  and  arrive 
at  the  same  place  at  the  hour  commonly  called  five, 
they  have  both  taken  the  same  time  to  arrive  in.  No- 
tions of  boys  and  stockjobbers !  We  have  no  idea 
of  time  but  that  of  space.  In  thinking  of  the  hour 
between  one  and  two,  we  measure  a  distance  on  our 
watches.  Now,  as  in  the  same  space  of  measure- 
ment may  be  crammed  many  particles,  and  in  the 
same  journey  one  road  may  be  straight  and  another 
crooked,  so  in  the  same  space  of  time  (the  com- 
mon phrase),  we  may  include  many  diftbrent  masses 
of  duration  and  varieties  of  experience.  One  man's 
time  is  so  much  tin,  another's  lead,  another's  gold. 
The  link  on  which  he  tells  his  thoughts  is  his  clock  ; 
and  the  more  he  tells  the  longer  he  lives.  The  hour 
of  the  many-thoughted  man  contains  many  hours. 
His  metal  is  heavv  and  full  of  matter. 

"  Time,  then,"  some  of  my  readers  may  sa)',  "  is  first 
nothing,  and  then  it  is  something.  It  is  easy  to  be 
annihilated,  and  yet  is  heavy  as  lead  or  gold."  I  do 
not  assert  that  it  is  nothing,  though  it  is  easy  of  anni- 
hilation. I  find  it  to  be  much  :  and  yet  how  shall  not 
this  much  be  altered  or  melted  away.  IIow  shall  not 
this  lead  be  turned  into  gold  by  the  sunshine  of  love 
and  kindness  !  IIow  shall  not  this  gold,  by  the  force 
of  imagination,  be  beaten  out  into  endless  contact 
with  ages  ! 

Pcrliaps  with  no  man  living  has  time  been  a  hcavici 
or  a  lighter  thing  tliaii  with  me.  My  metal  resemhlcs 
quicksilver,  except  that  it  is  more  malleable  to 
warmth  than  cold  ;  thougli  cold  also  renders  it  very 
gjave  and  solid.     Like  quicksilver,  it  is  not  precious 

2 


1 8  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

and  weighty  as  gold  ;  and  yet  it  easily  unites  with  it, 
and  helps  gold  itself  to  gild  a  variety  of  common 
things.  Furthermore,  it  is  subject  to  cliange  of  the 
barometer.  But  I  am  running  my  metallic  simile  too 
far  for  a  spirit.  A  spirit  I  certainly  am,  by  univei'sal 
acknowledgment ;  though  what  sort  of  one  has  been 
much  contested.  "  Time,"  as  the  philosopher  says, 
"  will  show."  Certainly  I  am  not  a  malignant  spirit, 
though  I  trifle  now  and  then  with  a  Caliban.  Nei- 
ther  am  I  the  devil  on  two  sticks,  confined  to  my  bot- 
tle ;  nor  the  spirit,  that  according  to  the  Italian  poet, 
dwelt  in  the  smoke  of  roast  meat.  But  like  certain 
spirits  in  poetry  and  romance,  I  have  seen  a  good  deal 
of  the  world,  visible  and  invisible.  Like  them,  I 
see  knowledge.  Like  them  I  am  fond  of  music,  of 
the  air,  of  the  trees  and  flowers,  and  of  liberty.  In 
some  things,  I  am  not  unlike  the  Sylph  Husband  of 
Marmontel.  Like  a  spirit,  I  can  dilate  myself,  till 
mountains  become  mole-hills ;  or  shrink  into  such 
diminutive  comj^ass,  as  to  stand  by  the  side  of  a  brook, 
and  live  in  imagination  on  the  banks  of  it,  with  the 
little  insects,  as  if  it  were  some  mighty  river.  Mil- 
lions of  times  have  I  ridden  on  the  bat's  back,  and 
gone  to  sleep  in  a  buttercup.  But  my  tears  inform 
me  that  I  am  human,  to  say  nothing  of  my  frailties. 
It  is  not  for  me  to  think  of  the  drowning,*  and  to  doubt 
whether  or  no  I  feel 

"  All  as  sharply, 
Passioned  as  they." 

I  shall  take  up,  in  this  paper,  any  subject  to  which 
I  feel  an  impulse,  politics  not  excepted.     It  would  be 

•  Of  Shelley.  —  Ed. 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  1 9 

idle  to  expect  that  a  periodical  paper,  however  un- 
political, would  go  into  any  quarters  but  those  of 
the  Reformers,  when  published  in  a  reforming  journal. 
My  first  intention  was  to  render  it  a  sort  of  with- 
drawing-room,  or  retirement  from  the  more  public 
part  of  the  Examiner ;  but  I  thought  it  better,  upon 
consideration,  to  take  the  opportunity  of  giving  myself 
full  scope,  political  as  well  as  otherwise.  It  is  a  fool- 
ish reproach  to  men  of  letters,  that  they  meddle  with 
politics.  Who  is  to  do  so  if  they  do  not.''  And  how 
is  a  man  of  any  warmth  of  sympathy  (unless  he  is 
hopeless  of  all  change)  to  see  what  is  going  on  in  the 
world,  and  be  able  honestly  to  repress  his  blame  and 
his  praise  ?  The  necessity  becomes  stronger  if  he  has 
been  accustomed  to  do  so.  Politics,  however,  will 
occupy  but  a  small  part  of  my  lucubrations.* 

I  am  a  spirit,  not  without  hands  or  feet ;  but  my 
strength  lies  in  my  power  of  flight,  —  in  my  Wish- 
ing-Cap.  The  greatest  distinction  (talents  apart)  be- 
tween me  and  other  spirits  that  have  manifested  them- 
selves to  these  latter  times,  is   not  in  age  or  bodily 


•  Most  of  Leigh  Hunt's  literary  contemporaries  meddled  with  politics.  Sir 
Walter  Scott  dabbled  in  them.  Soulhey  contributed  political  essays  to  the  Quar- 
terly Review,  and  Coleridge  wrote  political  articles  for  the  Morninj;  Post  and 
the  Morning  Chronicle.  Wordsworth  was  the  author  of  a  political  pamphlet  on 
the  peace  of  Cintra,  and  Moore  dashed  off  many  a  witty  political  squib.  Wil- 
son was  a  rash  and  bitter  political  writer;  and  Hai^litt  published  a  volume 
of  Political  Essays.  Sydney  Smith  wrote  political  pamphlets,  and  publi.shed 
political  articles  in  the  newspapers.  Even  "the  gentle  Elia"  wrote  political 
squibs  and  epigrams  for  the  Examiner  and  the  New  Times.  Politics,  to  those 
who  arc  desirous  of  becoming  acquainted  with  anything  that  concerns  man- 
kind, arc,  as  Hunt  says  elsewhere,  "a  part  of  humane  literature;  and  they  who 
can  be  taught  to  like  thum  in  common  with  wit  and  philosophy,  insensibly  do 
an  infinite  deal  of  good  by  mingling  them  with  the  common  talk  of  life,  and  help- 
ing to  render  the  stream  of  public  opinion  irresistible."  —  Ed. 


20  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

appearance  (for  those,  as  I  said  before,  are  notions)  ; 
but  in  my  being  a  very  truth-telling  spirit.  I  tell 
nothing  of  myself  or  others,  which  is  not  pure  mat- 
ter-of-fact, or,  at  least,  which  appears  to  me  to  be 
such  ;  a  verity,  which  I  would  have  the  reader  bear 
in  mind.  He  will  easily  distinguish  between  the 
things  which  I  talk  of  in  a  mere  spirit  of  fancy  (as 
the  world  calls  it),  and  what  I  lay  before  them  in  the 
grosser  shapes  of  truth. 

With  regard  to  speaking  of  myself  and  my  expe- 
riences (which  I  shall  do  very  freely  whenever  in- 
clined), I  have  several  reasons  for  it.  In  the  first  place, 
it  is  impossible  for  me  to  sustain  a  fictitious  charac- 
ter, like  that  of  Bickerstaff  and  others,  in  the  great 
periodical  works.  Secondly,  authors  sometimes,  as 
well  as  kings,  "lack  subjects."  Thirdly,  it  is  advisa- 
ble that  authors  should  write  only  upon  subjects  with 
which  they  are  acquainted.  Fourthly,  people  are 
often  much  better  acquainted  with  themselves  than 
the  old  adage  implies ;  though  many,  for  that  reason, 
take  care  never  to  show  it.  Fifthly,  I  am  much  alone, 
and  have  been  in  the  habit  of  speculating  upon  my 
feelings  and  adventures.  I  believe  that  if  the  first 
person  we  meet  in  the  street  were  to  put  down 
upon  paper  the  experiences  he  has  had  in  life, 
his  school-days,  journeys,  &c.,  they  would  be  found 
interesting.  I  have  been  perplexed  whether  to  speak  of 
myself  in  the  singular  or  the  plural  number,  —  wheth- 
er to  subject  myself  to  the  impatience  of  people  vainer, 
by  saying  I ;  or  to  hamper  my  verisimilitudes  and  my 
euphonies,  with  saying,  We  were^  We  would^  and 
We  once. 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  2 1 

The  last  reason,  or  apology,  which  I  have  to  lay 
before  him  for  talking  of  myself,  I  shall  repeat  in  tlie 
words  of  a  great  master  of  human  nature  :  — 

"  The  most  sovereign  remedy  for  self-love  is  to  do 
quite  contrary  to  what  these  people  direct,  who  in  for- 
bidding others  to  speak  of  themselves,  do  consequently 
at  the  same  time  interdict  thinking  of  themselves  too. 
Pride  dwells  in  the  thought :  the  tongue  can  have  but 
a  very  little  share  in  it.  They  fancy,  that  to  think  of 
one's  self  is  to  be  delighted  with  one's  self;  to  fre- 
quent and  converse  with  a  man's  self,  to  be  over  indul- 
gent. But  this  excess  springs  only  in  those  who  only 
take  of  themselves  a  superficial  view,  and  dedicate  their 
main  inspection  to  their  affairs  ;  that  call  meditation, 
raving  and  idleness,  looking  upon  themselves  as  a 
third  person  only,  and  a  stranger.  No  particular  quali- 
ty can  make  any  man  proud,  that  will  at  the  same  time 
put  so  many  other  weak  and  imperfect  ones,  as  he  has 
in  him  in  the  other  scale."  —  Montaigne  s  Essays^ 
book  ii.  chap.  6. 

1824. 


22  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

No.    II. 
A  WALK  IN  COVENT  GARDEN. 

Ante  oculos  errant  domus,  urbs,  et  forma  locorum, 
Succeduntque  suis  singula  facta  locis.  —  Ovid. 

Streets,  houses,  city,  glide  before  my  face, 
With  all  that's  done  in  each  successive  place. 

TIIERE  are  three  things  that  give  a  pleasant 
look  to  the  most  ordinary  commonplaces : 
health,  imagination,  and  coming  from  abroad. 
I  have  been  flying  from  place  to  place  in  London 
for  the  last  week,  and  have  made  my  Cap  as  dingy 
as  a  city  swallow.  At  one  time  I  dipped  about  Cov- 
ent  Garden  ;  now  I  was  at  the  West  End  ;  and  then 
again  I  was  at  St.  Paul's.  I  turn  about  the  streets,  as 
if  I  had  never  seen  them  before.  To  the  list  of 
human  pleasures  I  have  to  add  the  satisfaction  which 
arises  from  traversing  a  dirty  lane. 

There  is  Maiden  Lane  here  in  the  neighborhood. 
I  do  not  care  for  it  because  the  Examiner  office  was 
once  there,  or  because  the  Royal  Academy  there  held 
its  infant  sittings ;  much  less  on  account  of  the  cider- 
cellar  ;  but,  in  the  first  place,  I  have  traversed  it  a  thou- 
sand times;  secondly,  here  are  some  poor  book-stalls 
and  i^icture-shops ;  and  thirdly,  when  Voltaire  lived 
here  "  at  the  sign  of  the  White  Peruke,"  I  guess  that 
he  did  so  to  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  Congreve  and 
other  wits,  who  had  their  lodgings  in  Southampton 
Street  and  Bow  Street.  My  head  is  filled  with  them 
all.  I  imagine  the  thin  Frenchman  picking  his  way 
towards  his  abode  in  a  lank  peruke.     I  fi;ncy  that  it 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  23 

was  not  far  oft'  that  he  astonished  the  mob,  who 
pelted  him,  with  haranguing  them  in  our  language, 
producing  as  lively  a  movement  in  his  favor  as  if  they 
were  all  turned  into  Parisians.  He  got  on  the  step 
of  a  doorway,  and  appealed  "  to  the  nobleness  of  the 
national  character,"  complimenting  them  on  their  in- 
stitutions and  love  of  liberty.  I  believe  they  proposed 
to  carry  him  home  on  their  shoulders. 

I  like  everything  about  Covent  Garden.  It  pleases 
me  even  that  the  ground  belongs  to  the  Russells,  a 
liberal  and  lettei^ed  family.  I  like  the  green  market 
in  the  middle,  the  noble  portico  (not  to  be  thought 
less  of,  after  visiting  Italy),  the  Grecian-built  church, 
the  spacious  streets,  the  narrower  ones  with  their 
book-stalls,  the  neighborhood  of  the  theatres.  Other 
associations  I  have  mentioned  elsewhere.*  Though 
I  am  fond  of  going  to  the  play,  I  do  not  care  in  gen- 
eral for  play  books  ;  but  I  delight  to  see  whole  shops 
of  them  here.  They  arc  in  harmon}'  with  the  place. 
It  is  moving  and  alive  with  the  best  times  of  English 
comedy,  and  one  of  the  pleasantest  of  English  Society 
and  verse.  There,  at  Will's  Coflee-House,t  used  to 
sit  Dryden  in  his  arm-chair,  encouraging  a  young  au- 
thor with  a  pinch  out  of  his  snuff-box.  Addison  is 
keeping  it  up  over  the  way  at  Button's,  with  Steele, 
Garth,  Congrevc,  and  Colonel  Brett  (who  married 
Savage's  mother,  and  bought  Gibber's  wig).  |  Here 
come,  to  attend  a  rehearsal,  Mrs.  Barry,  who   acted 

•  In  the  Pleasant  Memories  Connected  witli  the  Various  Parts  of  the  Me- 
tropolis, in  The  In<licntor.  —  I'.u. 

t  It  was  on  the  north  side  of  Russell  Street,  near  Bow  Street.  In  Maloiic's 
time  was  numhcrcd  2^,  and  occupied  by  a  perfumer. 

t  'i'hc  reader  wiil  find  a  lively  account  of  the  purchase  in  the  eleventh  chap- 
ter of  Gibber's  Apology.  —  Ed. 


24  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

such  fine  love-parts  with  her  husband  ;   Mrs.  Brace- 
girdle,  Congrevc's    mistress,  and   Mrs.  Oldfield,  the 
Flavia  of  the  Tatler,  who  gave  Savage  a  pension.*     I 
cannot  help  thinking  with  Dr.  Young,  that  it  was  a 
pity  Congreve  did  not  leave  his  money  "  to  poor  Mrs. 
Bracegirdle,"   instead  of  a  duchess  who  bought  dia- 
mond necklaces  with  it.     But  the  insinuation  implied 
on  the  part  of  Young  (a  preferment-hunter,  who  wrote 
like  a  hermit)  may  be  regarded  with  suspicion.     In 
Spence's  Anecdotes,  Congreve  has  the  praise  of  all 
who  knew  him  as  an  honest,  good-natured  man :  we 
know  not  what   he   may  have   otherwise  given  Mrs. 
Bracegirdle,  nor  how  much  regard  for  him  was  mixed 
up  with  the  singularities  of  the  Duchess  of  Marlbor- 
ough, who  had  an  image  of  him  seated  with  her  at  ta- 
ble after  his  death.     To  be  sure,  there  seems  a  vanity  in 
those  bequests  to  people  of  rank ;   and  Johnson  says 
the  money  was  wanted  by  his  relations.     Let  us  hope 
that  those  who  were  most  intimate  with  him   knew 
him  best.     The    story  of  his  reception  of  Voltaire 
(perhaps  in  Southampton  Street,  when  he  lived  near 
Mrs.  Bracegirdle)  is  not  in  his  favor.     I  will  take  this 
opportunity  of  repeating  an  anecdote  of  Wycherley, 
which  is  ill  told  in  Spence's  book.     Pope  is  made  to 
inform  us,  that   one   day  as  Wycherley  passed  the 
Duchess  of  Cleveland's  carriage  in  the  ring,    "  she 
leaned  out  of  the  window,  and  cried  out,  loud  enough 
to  be  heard  distinctly  by  him,  '  Sir,  you're  a  rascal ; 
you're  a  villain.'  "     Spence's  memory  appears  to  have 
deceived    him.     The    other  account   says,   that    she 


*  See  Tatler,  No.  212.  [In  The  Town,  however,  Hunt  doubts  if  Mrs.  Old- 
field  was  Flavia,  and  conjectures  that  the  lady  immortahzed  under  that  name 
was  a  Miss  Osborne,  who  married  the  Bishop  of  Atterbury.  —  Ed.] 


THE    WISHIXG-CAP.  2^ 

accosted  him  in  a  miicli  coarser  manner  than  this. 
Wycherley  next  day  waited  on  her,  and  begged  to 
know  the  reason.  '-Why,  sir,"  said  she,  "  in  one  of 
your  plavs  you  say  that  the  appelK'ition  I  gave  you 
belongs  to  all  men  of  wit ;  so  I  thought  it  fairly  be- 
stowed." The  compliment  was  not  ill  turned,  such 
as  it  was  :  but  "  her  grace  "  must  have  been  a  very 
disagreeable  woman.  Wycherley,  however,  was  not 
nicer  than  his  master. 

It  is  with  difficulty  that  I  call  to  mind  Inigo  Jones, 
as  the  architect  of  Covent  Garden.  Even  Donne,  in 
the  mansion  of  his  father-in-law,  .Sir  Thomas  Drury, 
in  Drury  Lane,  with  all  his  graver  wit  and  his  ro- 
mantic passion,  is  thrust  out  of  my  mind  by  the  crowd 
of  beaux  and  comedians.  I  can  sooner  find  a  pleas- 
ure in  recollecting  that  Rowe  frequented  a  tavern  in 
Long  Acre,  and  that  in  the  same  quarter  dwelt  Prior's 
Chloe.  Who  she  was,  I  do  not  stop  to  inquire.  Suf- 
fice it  for  me,  that  I  know  her  in  his  verses.  The 
character  of  all  this  neighborhood  is  essentially  gay 
and  social,  scented  with  snufl-boxes,  and  rustling  with 
hoop  petticoats.  The  tragedy  of  those  times  does  not 
interfere  with  it.  Tragedy  herself  wore  a  iioop  petti- 
coat then,  and  was  a  very  courtly  personage.  I  con- 
fess, that  in  hitter  times,  Mr.  Kemblc  carried  the  old 
school  of  Booth  and  Qiiin  to  a  pitch  of  the  didac- 
tic wliich  disturbs  my  associations.  Booth  was  a 
kind  of  sublimated  player  at  a  fair;  and  Qiiin  a  bon- 
vivant.*     But  Munden  and    Drury  Lane  redeem  all. 

•  There  is  a  pleasant  bit  concerning  Qiiin,  in  Fielding's  loo  little  read  Voy- 
age to  Lisbon.  "Ilic  only  fi^h, "  he  says,  spcakini;  of  a  great  imrcliase  there- 
of for  a  "small  spill  of  money,"  "the  only  f'sh  which  bore  any  price  was  a  John 
Dorjr,  u  it  is  called.  I  bought  one  of  at  leatt  four  pounds  wcisht,  for  as  many 
ihilling*.     It  rcscmblcn  a  turbr,t  ix  shape,  but  cx'cetds  it  in  firmnc*^  and  flaVbr. 


26  THE    WISHIXG-CAP    PAPERS. 

I  should  add  Sheridan,  but  he  touches  too  nearly  on 
grave  times  and  melancholy  recollections.  Yet  surely 
he,  and  Drury  Lane,  and  comedy,  and  carelessness, 
were  all  made  for  each  other. 

Those  melancholy  exits  of  the  gay  are  vile  thkigs. 
Poor  Mrs.  Jordan  !  did  nobody  feel  for  thee  in  thy  sad 
and  mysterious  exile,  but  those  who  could  do  nothing 
to  help  it?  Her  honest-hearted  laugh  rings  at  this 
moment  in  my  ears  ! 

I  forget  whether  it  was  myself,  or  whether  some- 
body told  me  it  was  he,  who  saw  Jack  Bannister  (I 
had  almost  said  Mr.  Jack  Bannister)  standing  one 
day,  leaning  on  his  stick,  and  looking  up  in  a  melan- 
choly manner  at  Old  Drury.  Old  Drury  is  new 
Drury  in  face,  but  it  is  old  in  situation  and  fame  ;  and 
he  had  helped  to  carry  all  the  old  spirit  into  the  new 
house.  A  plague  on  those  real  old  ages  that  belong 
to  nothing  but  men  !  And  Elliston  too:  —  I  read  in 
the  papers,  that  he  plays  his  old  parts  with  all  the 
spirit  of  his  former  days.  That  can  hardly  be,  con- 
sidering that  he  did  not  take  care  to  remain  thin  like 
Lewis.  Lewis's  old  age,  after  all,  was  an  imposition, 
though  he  died  of  it.  But  Elliston  is  one  of  those, 
too,   who  will  never  be   old,  in  some   senses   of  the 


The  price  had  the  appearance  of  b'eing  considerable  when  opposed  to  the  ertra- 
ordinary  cheapness  of  others  of  value,  but  was,  in  truth,  so  very  reasonable 
when  estimated  by  its  goodness  that  it  left  me  under  no  other  surprise  than  how 
the  gentlemen  of  this  county  (Devonshire),  not  greatly  eminent  for  the  delicacy 
of  their  taste,  had  discovered  the  preference  of  the  Dory  to  all  other  fish  :  but  I 
was  informed  that  Mr.  Quin,  whose  distinguishing  tooth  halh  been  so  justly 
celebrated,  had  lately  visited  Plymouth,  and  had  done  those  honors  to  the  Dory 
which  are  so  justly  due  to  it  from  that  sect  of  modern  philosopliers,  who,  with 
Sir  Epicure  Mammoti,  or  Sir  Epicure  Quin,  their  head,  seem  more  to  delight  in 
a  fish-pond  than  a  p^fdm.  ?^  th^  old  F.picureans  are  gaid  to  hav»  done."  —  Ed. 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  2/ 

word.  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  he  was  as  3-oiing  as 
he  was  twenty  years  ago,  and  I  with  him,  and  that 
we  knew  as  much  then  as  we  do  now.  I  do  not 
think  either  of  us  would  be  a  bit  the  worse  or  less 
young  for  it.  I  would  have  praised  him  as  much  as 
I  did  then  for  his  comedy,  and  for  his  making  love 
better  than  any  man  on  the  stage  ;  but  he  would  not 
have  acted  tragedy  so  often,  nor  would  I  have  written 
those  fierce  criticisms  on  the  living  dramatists,  whose 
taking  to  farce  instead  of  comedy  was  not  their  fault, 
but  the  age's.  Good-natured  Tom  Dibdin,  behold  at 
last  your  critic  repentant ! 

C.  L.,  why  didst  thou  ever  quit  Russell  Street? 
Why  didst  thou  leave  the  warm  crowd  of  humanity, 
which  thou  lovest  so  well,  to  go  and  shiver  on  the 
side  of  the  New  River,  enticing  thy  many  friends  to 
walk  in?  Were  friends  and  sittings  up  at  night  too 
attractive?  And  was  there  no  otlier  way  to  get  rid 
of  them  ?  Reader,  we  have  not  waked  the  night-owl 
with  a  catch,  for  C.  L.  is  not  musical.  He  will  put 
up  with  nothing  but  snatches  of  old  songs.  Miozart 
is  to  him  an  alien,  and  Paesicllo  the  Pope  of  Rome. 
But  we  have  drawn  three  souls  out  of  one  card-play- 
er ;  and  might  have  waked  all  the  ghosts  in  our 
neighborhood  at  Will's  and  Button's,  seeing  that 
there  is  no  pride  in  the  next  world,  and  some  wit  left 
in  this.  What  would  I  not  give  for  another  Thurs- 
day evening?  It  was  humanity's  triumph  ;  for  wliist- 
playcrs  and  no  whist-players  tiiere  for  the  first  time 
met  together.  Talk  not  to  me  of  great  houses  in 
which  such  things  occur ;  for  there  the  wiiist-players 
are  gamblers,  and  the  no  whist-players  are  nobody  at 


28  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

all.  Here,  tlie  whist  was  for  its  own  sake,  and  yet 
the  non-players  were  tolerated.  But  the  triumph 
went  further.  Here  was  R.,  to  represent  amonf]^  us 
the  plumpness  of  office  and  the  solidity  of  govern- 
ment. My  brother  reformer,  W.  H.,  came  to  rest  his 
disappointments  and  his  paradoxes.  Vain  expecta- 
tion !  With  him  contended  A.  the  most  well-bred 
of  musicians,  who  hates  a  paradox  like  an  unresolved 
discord.  Another  A.  was  there,  the  best  of  neigh- 
bors, especially  if  you  happen  to  be  confined  to  your 
room.  Item,  a  third  A.  the  most  trusting  of  linen- 
drapers,  who  lent  a  poet  a  hundred  pounds.  I  do  not 
know  whether  he  has  been  paid.  I  hope  not ;  for  he 
deserves  to  enjoy  the  interest  forever,  and  in  his  case 
it  is  a  rich  one.  M.  B.  was  one  of  us,  having  his 
hands  in  his  waistcoat  pockets  like  his  friend,  and 
talking  well  upon  episodes.  And  there,  M.  L.,  —  why 
have  I  not  the  art,  like  the  old  writers  of  dedications, 
of  at  once  loading  thee  with  panegyric,  and  saving  the 
shoulders  of  thy  modesty?  an  art,  by  tlie  by,  which 
was  so  conspicuously  concealed,  that  nobody  would 
have  suspected  them  of  having  it.  There  also  came 
old  Captain  B.,  who  had  been  round  the  world  with 
Cook,  and  was  the  first  man  who  planted  a  pun  in 
Otaheite.  Nevertheless,  though  I  met  him  fifty  times, 
I  never  had  the  courage  to  address  him,  he  appeared 
to  be  so  W'rapped  up  in  his  tranquillity  and  his  whist. 
He  seemed  to  be  taking  a  long  repose  from  his  storms. 
The  jovial  face  of  Colonel  P.,  blooming  with  a  second 
youth,  made  me  bolder.  He  had  been  round  the 
world  also,  when  a  boy,  and  had  challenged  his  lieu- 
•enant  for  not  standing  closer  by  his  captain.     This 


THE    WISHING-CAP. 


illeealitv  completed  my  confidence.  With  K.  we  re- 
joiced  over  his  successful  plays,  and  tried  to  be  in-  ^^^, 
different  over  the  others.  He  has  humanity  enough 
to  remember  with  pleasure,  that  on  the  latter  occa- 
sion we  mustered  up  (some  of  us  at  least)  as  great  an 
appetite  at  supper  as  if  two  plays  had  succeeded  at 
once.  It  is  more  than  we  could  have  looked  for,  had 
a  critic  written  them,  instead  of  a  poet.  But  some- 
how these  poetical  observers  see  farther  into  niceties 
of  us  than  your  mctapb.ysical.  With  regard  to  my- 
self, the  fact  was  (and  I  shall  do  myself  no  harm  to 
confess  it  —  very  likely  he  knows  it  already)  that  my 
appetite  was  really  great  and  craving.  On  livelier 
occasions,  if  my  lungs  have  not  been  well  exercised, 
I  will  not  swear  that  I  could  eat  the  wing  of  a  chicken. 
My  heart  is  up  and  dancing,  and  objects  to  the  pas- 
sage of  anything  grosser  than  a  pint  of  wine.  * 

•  Lamb  moved  from  No.  4,  Inner  Temple  Lane,  to  Russell  Street,  Covent  Gar- 
den, in  ihe  autumn  of  1S17.  "  We  have  left  the  Temple,"  writes  Mary  Lamb 
to  Miss  Wordsworth.  "  Our  rooms  were  dirty  and  out  of  repair,  and  the  incon- 
veniences of  living  in  chambers  became  every  year  more  irksome,  and  so,  at  last, 
we  mustered  up  re-.olution  enougli  to  leave  the  old  place,  that  so  long  has  shel- 
tered us ;  and  here  we  are,  living  at  a  brazier's  shop.  No.  20,  in  Russell  Street, 
Covent  Garden,  a  place  all  alive  with  noise  and  bustle  ;  Drury  Lane  Theatre  in 
fight  from  our  front.  an<l  Covent  Garden  from  our  back  windows.  The  hubbub 
of  the  carriages  returning  from  the  play  does  not  annoy  me  in  the  least;  strange 
that  it  docs  not,  for  it  is  quite  tremendous.  I  quite  enjoy  looking  out  of  ihi; 
window,  and  listening  to  the  calling  up  of  the  carriages,  and  the  squabbles  of  the 
co.ithmen  and  link-boys.  It  is  the  oddest  scene  to  huik  down  u|  on."  Lamb 
himself  was  equally  well  pleased  with  their  new  abode,  declaring  that  they  were 
in  the  individual  spot  he  liked  best  in  all  London.  Here  he  wrote  the  best  of 
the  Essays  of  Elia.  In  1823  he  left  the  city,  with  its  theatres  and  book-stalls,  and 
took  a  cottage  in  Colebrook  Rowc,  Islington.  It  was  T.corge  Dyer  who  walked 
into  th-:  New  River,  and  thus  give  Klia  a  siJjject  for  the  fine  humorous  paper 
entitled  Amicus  Kedivivus. 

Perhaps  a  word  or  two  on  some  of  the  initials  in  the  above  reminiscence  of 
Lamb's  Thursday  evening  suppers  will  not  be  wholly  superfluous.  Of  course 
C.   L.  is  Charles  Lamb,  and  W.  H.,  William   Hailitt,  and   Captain   B   is  C.i;<- 


30  THE    WISIIING-CAP    PAPERS. 

All  that  part  of  the  metropolis  which  may  now  be 
called  the  centre  of  it,  is  classic  ground :  from  Fleet 
Street,  where  Johnson  and  Goldsmith  lived,  Gerrard 
Street,  Soho,  which  contains  the  residence  of  Dry- 
den.*     It  includes  the  chief  places  of  resort,  during 

tain  Burney,  and  M.  B.,  Martin  Bumey,  whose  dirty  hands  were  so  provocative 
of  Lamb's  wit.  The  captain,  according  to  Crabb  Robinson,  was  "a  fine,  noble 
creature,  —  gentle  with  a  rouj;h  exterior,  as  became  the  associate  of  Captain 
Cook  in  his  voyages  round  the  world,  and  the  literary  historian  of  all  these  acts 
of  circumnavigation."  The  three  A.'s  were  Thomas  Allsop,  Thomas  Alsager,  and 
William  Ayrton,  of  the  Italian  Opera.  Lamb  said  Ayrton  was  "a  wit  and 
devilish  good  fellow."  K.  stands  for  James  Sheridan  Knowies,  the  dramatist, 
author  of  Virginius.  R.  is  John  Rickman,  clerk  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. "His  manners,"  writes  Southey  of  Rickman,  "are  stoical:  they  are 
like  the  husk  of  the  cocoa-nut,  and  his  inner  nature  is  like  the  milk  within  its 
kernel.  When  I  go  to  London  I  am  always  his  guest.  He  gives  me  but  half 
his  hand,  but  his  whole  heart  —  and  there  is  not  that  thing  in  the  world  which 
he  thinks  would  serve  or  gratify  me  that  he  does  not  do  for  me,  unless  it  be 
something  which  he  thinks  I  can  as  well  do  myself  "  George  Dyer  introduced 
Lamb  to  Rickman.  Lamb  was  so  delighted  with  the  man  that  he  wrote  a  long 
letter  about  him  to  Manning.  "  He  is,"says  Elia,  exultingly,  "a  most  pleasant 
hand  ;  a  fine,  rattling  fellow,  has  gone  through  life  l.iughing  at  solemn  apes  ;  —  him- 
self hugely  literate,  oppressively  full  of  information  in  all  stuff  of  conversation, 
from  matter  of  fact  to  Xenophon  and  Plato  —  can  talk  Greek  with  Porson,  poli- 
tics with  Thel  wall,  conjecture  with  George  Dyer,  nonsense  with  me,  and  anything 
with  anybody  :  a  great  farmer,  somewhat  concerned  in  an  agricultural  magazine 
—  reads  no  poetry  but  Shakespeare,  very  intimate  with  Southey,  hut  never 
reads  his  poetry,  relishes  George  Dyer,  thoroughly  penetrates  into  the  ridicu- 
lous wherever  found,  understands  the  first  time  (a  great  desideratum  in  common 
minds)  —  you  need  never  twice  speak  to  him:  does  not  want  explanations, 
translations,  limitations,  as  Professor  Godwin  does  when  you  make  an  assertion  ; 
7//S  to  anything;  down  to  anything  ;  whatever  ia/// Ao>«/«^»«.  A  perfect  Tnan. 
All  this  farrago,  which  must  perplex  you  to  read,  and  has  put  me  to  a  little 
trouble  to  select,  only  proves  how  impossible  it  is  to  describe  a  pleasant  hand. 
You  must  see  Rickman  to  know  him,  for  he  is  a  species  in  one  ;  a  new  class  ;  an 
exotic  ;  any  slip  of  which  I  am  proud  to  put  in  my  garden  pot."  A  "  pleasant 
hand  "  truly  :  but  how  different  from  Southey's  stoical-mannered  man  !  Is  this 
description  of  Rickman  true  in  all  its  particulars,  or  was  Lamb  hoaxing  the 
"  learned  Trismegist  "  ?  —  Ed. 

*It  was  "the  fifth,"  says  Mr.  Malone,  "in  coming  from  Little  Newport 
Street,  and  is  now  numbered  43.  Behind,  his  apartments  looked  into  the  gar- 
dens of  Leicester  House." 

[We  copy  this  interesting  passage  relating  to  Covent  Garden  from  a  curious 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  3I 

the  three  periods,  in  which  poetry  and  wit  were  allied 
with  familiar  life  ;  — Dryden's  period,  with  Etherege, 
Wvchcrlev,  Rochester,  and  others  ;  —  the  time  of  Steele 
and  Addison,  Garth,  Vanbrugh,  Congreve,  &c.,  and 
that  of  the  two  authors  above  mentioned,  who  left  us 
just  before  the  French  revolution.  In  the  Strand,  oppo- 
site Beaufort  Buildings,  walking  at  a  very  quick  pace 
for  a  man  of  his  years,  I  once  saw  Cumberland,  the 
last  survivor  of  Retaliation,  His  appearance  was  gen- 
tlemanly (suited  to  his  old  character),  and  his  face 
earnest  and  thoughtful.  I  would  have  accosted  him, 
and  thanked  him  for  a  criticism  he  wrote  on  a  per- 
formance of  mine  ;  hut  besides  carrying  a  certain  habit 
of  independence  at  that  time  to  a  pitch  of  martyrdom, 
I  felt  as  if  it  would  be  an  impertinence  in  so  young  a 
man  to  bring  himself  into  contact  on  such  an  occa- 
sion with  an  associate  of  Goldsmith  and  Johnson. 
The  performance,  to  say  the  truth,  was  very  crude 
and  young,  and  not  worth  his  praises  :  nor  could  I 
conceal  from  myself,  that  a  panegyric  bestowed  on 
him  in  the  course  of  it  had  warmed  tiie  heart  of  the 
old  author.  But  his  criticism  was  delightful,  contain- 
ing some  excellent  gossip  upon  Q_uin,  Garrick,  and 
others.     It  appeared  in  the  London  Review,  a  work 

letter  by  Thomas  Grignion,  addressed  to  Tom  Dibdin,  and  published  in  a  little 
volume  entitled  Fly  Leaves,  or  Scraps  and  Sketches :  — 

"  Vou  will  see  by  my  plan  of  1691,  that  Covcnt  Garden  was  then  in  the  empo- 
rium of  the  aru  and  sciences,  and  the  residence  of  the  chief  nobility  of  the  kinj;- 
dom.  My  late  dear  grandfather's  cordial  I'rlend,  the  celebrated  Barton  I'ooth, 
lived  in  Charles  Street.  No.  4:  Colley  Cibber  lived  in  No.  3;  and  Lasty's 
Hotel  was  Mr.  Garrick's  ;  Mrs.  Oldfield  lived  in  Si)Uth,unpton  Street.  Wilkes 
built  the  houHe  in  Bow  Street,  next  door  but  one  to  the  theatre  ;  Garrick  and 
Macklin  lodged  in  it.  I  thought  this  information  respecting  our  truly  classic 
ground  might  not  be  uDintcrekting  to  you."  —  Ed.] 


32  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

which  did  not  continue  long,  probably  because  the 
reviewers  put  tlicir  names  to  it.  To  be  praised  by 
one  of  tlic  heroes  of  Retaliation  appeared  to  me  a 
piece  of  good  fcMtune  beyond  all  others ;  too  good 
even  for  my  vanity  to  take  without  drawback. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  laugh  of  Mrs.  Jordan.  There 
is  a  delightful  little  poem  by  Clement  Marot,  On  the 
Laugh  of  Madame  D'Albret,  which  seems  to  re- 
cord a  similar  quintessence  of  glee,  cordiality,  and 
lightness.  It  i^eminded  me  of  her  the  moment  I 
read  it. 

DU  RIS  DE  MADAME  D'ALBRET. 

Elle  li.i  trcs  bien  ceste  gorge  d'albastre, 

A  doux  [i.irler,  ce  cler  tainct,  ces  beaux  jeux  ; 

Mais,  en  effect,  ce  petit  ris  follastre, 

C'est  a  mon  gre,  ce  qui  lui  sied  le  tnieux: 

Elle  en  pnurroit  Ics  clieniins  et  les  lieux, 

Ou  elle  passe,  a  plaisir  inciter: 

Et  si  ennuy  me  venoit  contrister, 

Tnnt  que  par  mort  fiista  ma  vie  abbatue, 

111  ne  faudroit,  pour  me  resusciter, 

Que  ce  ris  la,  duquel  elle  me  tue. 

Yes.  that  fair  neck,  too  beautiful  by  half, 

Those  eyes,  that  voice,  that  bloom,  all  do  her  honor  : 

Yet  after  all,  that  little  giddy  laugh 

Is  what,  in  my  mind,  sits  Ihe  best  upon  her. 

Good  God  !  'twould  make  the  very  streets  and  ways 
Through  which  she  passes,  burst  into  a  pleasure  ! 

Did  melancholy  come  to  mar  my  days, 

And  kill  me  in  the  lap  of  too  much  leisure, 

No  spell  were  wanting,  from  the  dead  to  raise  me, 

15ut  only  that  sweet  laugh,  wherewith  she  slays  me. 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  33 

No.   III. 
PICCADILLY   AND   THE  WEST   END. 

Lo  I  stately  streets ;  lo  !  squares  that  court  the  breeze.  — Thomson. 

IF  I  had  healtli,  and  my  friends  were  all  com- 
fortable, and  the  world  as  happy  as  it  might 
be,  and  I  could  transport  everybody  where  I  pleased 
as  well  as  myself,  and  books  were  as  plentiful  as 
blackberries,  and  a  thousand  other  things  (as  some- 
body said)  were  a  thousand  other  things,  the  pleas- 
ure I  should  take  in  writing  these  papers  would 
be  inconceivable.  As  it  is,  it  is  no  mean  conso- 
lation. The  house  I  generally  write  in  being  large, 
I  contrive  to  dismiss  certain  little  scholars  I  have 
into  a  distant  play-room,  and  get  an  hour  to  myself 
after  breakfast,  uninterrupted  :  —  the  sound  of  a  wood 
fire  is  crackling  in  my  cars;  —  and  with  a  fresh  pen 
and  a  fair  sheet  of  paper,  I  begin.* 

But  I  am  fancying  niysclf  in  Italy:  and  forget  I 
am  in  London,  at  tlie  West  End  of  tlie  town. 

By  the  West  End  of  the  town,  I  understand  Picca- 
dilly, the  squares,  and  their  neighborhood,  as  far  as 
the  Regent's  Park.  The  other  parks  ought  to  be  in- 
cluded:    but    I    must    treat    of    them    another    time. 

•  In  Elia's  letter  to  Southey,  Leigh  Hunt's  "litllc  scholars"  are  afTection- 
atcly  mentioned.  Here  is  the  passnRc :  —  "Leigh  Hunt  is  now  in  It  ily  ;  on 
his  departure  to  which  land  «ith  much  regret  I  took  my  leave  of  him  and  of  his 
little  family  —  »cven  of  them,  si  ■,  «ilh  their  mother  —and  as  kind  a  set  of  little 
people,  as  affectionate  children,  .11  ever  blessed  a  parent.  Had  you  seen  ihem,  sir, 
I  think  you  could  not  have  looked  upon  them  as  so  many  little  Jonascs,  butratlier 
as  pledges  of  the  vessel's  safct.,  that  was  to  bear  such  a  freight  of  love."  —  Ku. 

3 


34  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

The  West  End  is  a  very  a<Trccablc  portion  of  the 
world  to  me  for  three  reasons:  —  Imprimis,  because  I 
have  Hved  there ;  secondly,  because  it  is  the  next 
part  of  the  town  to  Hampstead,  my  other  place  of 
abode  ;  and  thirdly,  because  it  contains  the  fairest 
portion  of  God's  creatures  under  the  sun.  If  the  two 
first  reasons  are  thought  egotistical,  they  will  be 
found  to  resemble  most  others  given  bv  people  for 
their  preference  of  places.  The  only  difference  be- 
tween them  and  me  is.  that  I  tell  what  I  feel.  As  to 
the  third  reason,  it  is  not  only  what  no  Englishman 
will  dispute,  but  no  Frenchman  or  Italian  that  has 
seen  English  women.     But  of  this,  more  hereafter. 

The  West  End  may  be  supposed  to  commence  at 
Leicester  Square.  It  is  but  a  mongrel  square,  a 
mixture  of  house  and  shop  ;  but  it  is  green  in  the 
middle,  and  contains  a  statue  of  some  prince.  There 
are  people  who  object  to  these  royal  statues,  thinking 
it  a  pity  that  they  are  not  rather  those  of  some  great 
philosophers,  poets,  or  other  public  benefactors.  But 
when  they  reflect  that  the  faces  are  too  far  off"  to  be 
seen,  and  that  few  persons  know  who  they  are,  the 
objection  perhaps  will  vanish.  In  Leicester  Square, 
at  the  house  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  (situate,  I  be- 
lieve, in  the  west  side,  towards  the  alley  from  which 
you  cross  into  Coventry  Street),  were  many  meetings 
of  Johnson,  Goldsmith,  and  others.  Leicester  House 
(now  lost  in  the  large  house  with  shops  on  the  north 
side)  was  the  residence  of  Frederick,  Prince  of  Wales,* 

*  In  the  diseases  and  jarring  tempers  of  this  prince  and  his  wife,  may  be  dis- 
cerned the  seeds  of  the  unfortunate  malady  which  afflicted  the  late  king,  their 
son.  [George  III.,  who  was  deprived  of  reason  during  the  last  ten  years  of  his 
life. -Ed] 


THE    WISHIXG-CAP.  35 

who    affected    the    love    of    Hbcrty,    and    patronized 
Thomson.*      VVhitcomb  Street  was  formerly  called 
Hedge   Lane,   no   doubt   from   a   lane   which  ran  up 
from   Charring  Cross   to  the   fields   about   Piccadilly 
and  Mar\lebone.      Think   of  lovers   having  walked 
here  on  a  May-morning  !     In  a  house  opposite  Cov- 
entry Street  lodged  an  early  friend   of  mine,  whom 
it  is  a  comfort  to  me  to  take  even  this  obscure  way 
of  noticing.      He   was  an   intelligent  fellow,   full   of 
goodness,  and   in  love  with   music,  and  poetry,  and 
all  good  things.     I  once  walked  with  him  a  hundred 
and  twelve   miles   along  the  coast  from  Margate  to 
Brighton,  talking,  laughing,  and  singing  all  the  way, 
eating  breakfasts  which  made  us  ashamed  to  ask  for 
more,  and  falling  to  sleep   at  niglit  the   moment  we 
laid  our  heads  on  the  pillow.     We  did  it  in  four  days. 
Poor  J.  R. !    He  had  an  overstock  of  love,  which  was 
not  very  happily  placed.     He  become  sick,  unsuccess- 
ful,  a  wanderer ;  and  was  at  last  taken  prisoner  by 
the   French,  and  died  during  the  long   detention  of 
his  countrymen  by  Napoleon.     He  wrote  me  a  long 
letter  from  Bagneres,  where  he  had  been  suflcred  to 
go  for  the  benefit  of  his  health  ;  and  I  delayed,  from 
dav  to  (Uly,  in  order  to  write  him  as  long  an  answer, 
till   I   delayed   for   months,   and   heard  of   his   death. 
Tiic  letter  has  been  upon  my  conscience  ever  since. 
It  would  be  a  useful   task  for  those  who   have   been 
culpable  during  their  lives  on  the  score  of  delay,  and 
other  petty  neglects  of  duty,  to  set  down  upon  paper 

*  Leigh  Hunt  should  not  have  forgotten  Hogarth,  who  lived  at  the  "  Painter's 
Head, "  in  Leicester  Square.  —  Eo. 


36  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

all  the  unkind  and  serious  consequences  resulting 
from  it.  There  arc  petty  as  well  as  great  remorses 
which  people  feel,  on  and  off,  during  the  whole  of 
their  lives  ;  and  a  good  many  of  thcni  amount  to  a 
good  large  remorse ;  and  with  reason,  considering 
what  they  do.  I  have  an  assortment  of  my  own. 
which  make  me  speak.  The  one  in  question  has 
never  suffered  me  to  pass  by  that  house,  or  think  of 
it,  without  a  pang.  I  hope  it  was  on  a  more  fanciful 
account  that  Dr.  Johnson  always  avoided  going 
through  Sydney's,  or  Cranborne  Alley,  in  this  neigh- 
borhood, I  forget  which. 

In  Piccadilly,  during  the  time  of  Cromwell  and  the 
Stuarts,  was  a  house  of  entertainment  with  a  bowl- 
ing-green, wlicre  the  gentry  and  members  of  Parlia- 
ment used  to  refresh  themselves.  Here  came  the 
sprightly  wits  of  the  court,  and  the  grave  heads  that 
earned  for  us  our  liberties.  Parliament  at  that  time 
used  to  meet  at  eisfht  in  the  morninjj.  If  statesmen 
got  a  little  too  much  wine  after  dinner,  it  was  in  hon- 
or of  Phyllis  and  Chloe,  and  not  to  put  themselves  in 
a  fit  state  for  settling  the  affairs  of  the  world.  They 
did  their  work  with  clear  heads  ;  and  if  they  gam- 
bled, gambled  in  the  open  air,  which  is  better  than 
losing  one's  money  and  health  together  in  the  club- 
rooms  about  St.  James's.  It  is  doubtful  whether  the 
Burlington  House  mentioned  in  Gray's  Trivia  was 
the  one  in  Piccadilly,  or  another  in  the  Strand : 
most  jDrobably  the  former.  I  cannot  refer  to  books. 
As  tlie  passage,  however,  is  metropolitan  and  pleas- 
ant, I  will  lay  it  before  the  reader :  — 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  37 

•'Come,  Fortescue,  sincere,  experienced  friend. 
Thy  briefs,  thy  deeds,  and  even  thy  fees,  suspend  ; 
Come,  let  us  leave  the  Temple's  silent  walls ; 
Me  business  to  my  distant  lodging  calls  : 
Through  the  long  Strand  together  let  us  stray  ; 
With  thee  conversing  1  forget  the  way. 
Behold  that  narrow  street  which  steep  descends, 
Whose  building  to  the  slimy  shore  extends  ; 
Here  Arundel's  famed  structure  reared  its  frame, 
The  street  alone  retains  an  empty  name. 
Where  Titian's  glowing  paint  the  canvas  warmed, 
And  Raphael's  fair  design  with  judgment  charmed. 
Now  hangs  the  bellman's  so:.g,  and  pasted  here 
The  colored  prints  of  Overton  appear. 
Where  statuss  breathed,  the  work  of  Phidias'  hands, 
A  wooden  pump  or  lonely  watch-house  stands. 
There  Essex'  stately  pile  adorned  the  shore. 
There  Cecil's,  Bedt'ord's,  Vil.iers',  now  no  more. 
Yet  Burlington's  fair  palace  still  remains  ; 
Beauty  within,  without  proportion  reigns. 
Beneath  his  eye  declaring  Art  revives. 
The  wall  with  animated  picture  lives. 
There  Handel  strikes  the  strings,  the  melting  strain 
Transports  the  soul,  and  thrills  through  every  vein. 
There  oft  I  enter  (but  with  cleaner  shoes) 
For  Buriington's  beloved  by  every  Muse." 

Handel  and  Gay  must  have  found  two  subjects  of 
mutual  interest:  music,  of  whicli  the  latter  was  a 
judge;  and  good  eating,  in  which,  Congreve  tells  us, 
he  was  a  great  performer.*  Handel  set  his  pretty 
Sercnata  of  Acis  and  Galatea  to  music.  I  have  never 
been  inside  Burlington  House  ;  but  I  once  witnessed 
an  adventure  inside  the  gates,  which  Gay  might  have 
written  upon  had  he  seen  it,  and  Handel  have  set  to 
..lusic  with  drums  and  trumpets.  The  reader  must 
know  I  have  been  a  soldier,  have  had  a  red  coat  and 

•  111  a  icitcr  to  Pope.  See  Spcnce's  Anecdotes.  "As  the  French  philoso- 
pher," says  Congrcvf,  "used  to  prove  his  existence  hy  cogito,  ergo  sum,  the 
greatest  proof  of  Giy's  existence  is  edit  ergo  est."  Gay's  poems  abound  with  al- 
liuions  to  eating  and  drinking.  [Thackeray  says  Gay  was  "forever  eating 
and  saying  good  thing*."  —  Ed.] 


38  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

great  long  green  feather,  and  bivouacked  in  Du- 
four's  Place.  I  have  seen  horrid  war  at  Wormwood 
Scrubbs,  and  marched  from  "  Ealing  to  Acton  "  in 
all  the  dusty  glory  of  a  campaign.  Our  regiment 
had  not  been  long  organized,  when  it  was  announced 
to  us  that  we  were  to  have  Lord  A.  for  our  colonel, 
and  that  his  lordship  would  make  his  first  appear- 
ance among  us  on  a  certain  morning,  on  the  parade 
before  Burlington  House.  We  mustered  about  a 
thousand  strong  at  that  time,  and  were  all  under  arms 
on  the  day  appointed,  anxious  and  exalted.  On  a 
sudden  the  great  gates  are  thrown  open,  the  band 
strikes  up,  the  regiment  presents  arms,  and  his  lord- 
ship, on  a  gallant  white  charger,  instead  of  riding 
tenderly  in,  introduces  himself  to  us  by  pitching  head 
foremost  over  his  horse's  neck  !  The  debut  was  awk- 
ward :  the  sympathy  hardly  made  it  better ;  but  noth- 
ing came  of  the  bad  omen  ;  unless  it  was  prophetic 
of  the  prostration  which  was  afterwards  required  of 
the  noble  lortl  in  China,  and  which  he  so  naturally 
refused  to  make.  The  ko-to7i  to  the  band-major  was 
certainly  enough,  once  in  a  man's  life. 

Golden  Square  is  a  vile  square,  though  it  was 
once  among  the  most  fashionable.*  You  gather  this 
from  the  slip-slop  novels,  which  always  make  a  point 
of  being  high-bred.  No  hero  can  have  an  interesting 
aspect,  and  no  heroine  a  becoming  wretchedness  of 
mind,  unless  the  family  have  an  establisliment  in  Port- 
man  or  Grosvenor  Square  to  support  it.     Soho  Square 

•  "  I  have  a  grim  pleasure  in  thinking  th.^t  Golden  Square  was  once  the  resort 
of  the  aristocracy,"  says  Thackeray,  in  a  delightful  digression  on  the  mutations 
of  fashion,  in  Philip.  —  Ed. 


THE    WISHIXG-CAP.  39 

is  much  better  than  Golden,  for  it  has  trees.*  A 
great  improvement  has  been  made  of  late  years  in  this 
respect  in  most  of  the  squares  ;  but  the  two  just 
mentioned  togetiier  certainly  bear  the  palm.  They 
are  all  great  ornaments  to  the  town,  and  serve  to 
keep  it  healthy.  In  some  parts  of  Italy  they  have  a 
pretty  custom  of  putting  inscriptions  over  the  doors 
and  gateways,  both  in  town  and  country.  I  have 
often  thougrht  that  mottoes  would  l)e  an  addition  both 
agreeable  and  useful  to  the  doors  of  our  fine  houses 
at  the  West  End.  The  spaces  over  the  entrances  seem 
to  invite  tliem.  The  passengers  would  be  amused  ; 
and  the  householder  who  put  up  the  inscription  (for 
every  new  possessor -should  have  his  own)  would  feel 
it  a  sort  of  tie  on  his  character.  Devices  of  all  kinds 
are  useful  in  this  point  of  view,  except  hereditary 
ones ;  for  those  are  not  a  man's  own,  and  remind  him 
of  nothing  but  the  antiquity  of  his  family.  Once  and 
away,  they  may  give  him  a  just  pride  or  as  just  a 
qualm.  A  cuiious  list  of  contrasts  might  be  made 
out  between  modern  lands  and  the  mottoes  to  their 
arms. 

The  long  streets  without  shops  to  them,  in  this  part 
of  the  town,  -a])']  with  brick  hcnises  all  built  in  the 
same  manner,  have  a  strange  look  to  persons  who  have 
resided  in  Italy.  In  the  cities  there,  the  houses  vary 
at  every  step,  and  are  faced  witli  stucco.  The  ad- 
vantage is  on  the  side  of  tlie  London  houses  in  point 


•  Sir  Roger  Dc  Covcrley  lived  in  Soho  Square  during  his  visits  to  London  in 
his  "  finc-gentlcman  days;"  but  l.itcr  in  life  he  prcfurrcd  humbler  quarlera 
when  in  town.  When  he  came  up  to  London  to  get  a  sight  of  Prince  Eugene^ 
he  lodged  in  Norfolk  Street.  —  Ed 


4©  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

of  smigness,  especially  on  the  ground  floors,  which  in 
Italy  have  the  windovvs  barred  over  with  iron,  wliich 
gives  them  a  prison  look.  It  is  impossible  also  for 
an  Englishman,  at  least  in  winter  time,  to  divest  him- 
self of  the  preference  i\uc  to  the  snug  curtains  and 
carpets  all  over  the  house  inside,  things  which  do  not 
abound  in  the  south.  But  in  point  of  architecture 
and  general  appearance,  there  is  no  comparison.  The 
houses  in  Italy  are  on  a  larger  scale,  the  variety  inter- 
esting, and  the  proportions  very  often  beautifid  and  in 
high  taste.  The  stucco  and  marble  also  suit  the  blue 
sky.  You  see  that  the  houses  belong  to  a  country  of 
artists.  Nevertheless,  give  me  the  West  End  of  my 
old  metropolis  with  its  world  of  comfort,  its  firesides, 
and  its  fair  faces.  I  llit  from  drawing-room  to  draw- 
ing-room, delighted  with  the  endless  succession  of 
wealth,  beauty,  and  elegance,  the  music,  the  books, 
the  graceful  sisterhoods,  the  respectable  parents,  —  in 
short,  with  everything  except  the  climate  over  their 
heads,  and  the  spleen  too  often  in  their  faces.  What 
a  pity  the  whole  world  cannot  exchange  their  advan- 
tages with  one  another ! 

In  Marylebone,  Pope  went  for  a  short  time  to 
school.  There  was  a  house  and  bowling-green  there 
in  his  time,  similar  to  the  one  in  Piccadilly,  which  I 
suppose  it  succeeded.  It  was  frequented  by  the  best 
company,  bowls  at  that  time  being  a  game  justlv 
held  in  estimation.  ShelTield,  Duke  of  Buckingham, 
was  so  constant  a  visitor,  that  he  was  said  to  live 
there.  Marylebone  Gardens  afterwards  became  cel- 
ebrated for  the  same  entertainments  as  the  modern 
Vauxhall.     They  existed  up  to  a  late  period.     Chat- 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  4! 

terton  wrote  a  cantata  for  them  ;  a  burlesque  (if  I 
remember)  of  the  quarrels  and  amours  of  the  pagan 
heaven.  The  Thrales  had  a  house  in  Hanover 
Square,  where  Johnson  visited. 

The  West  End  of  London,  for  an  obvious  reason,  is 
of  little  interest  in  a  classical  point  of  view,  com- 
pared with  other  parts  of  the  town.  One  or  two 
writers  like  Gibbon  do  notliing  for  so  great  a  quarter. 
ICven  Covcnt  Garden  is  not  the  most  inspired  ground. 
Tiie  most  sacred  places  are  now  occupied  by  the 
money-changers  of  Cornhill  and  the  Borough.  Of 
these  in  my  next.  But  O  for  the  evenings  again  that 
I  have  passed  there,  especially  at  a  house  at  the  other 
end  of  Oxford  Street !  The  N.'s  lived  there,  the  most 
Catholic  of  Catholics,  for  their  spirit  embraced  the 
whole  world.*  There  we  should  have  waked  the 
night-owl  with  a  catch,  h;ui  an  owl  been  within  hear- 
ing. The  watchman  did  instead.  The  solitary  pas- 
senger who  was  astonished  at  our  Laughing  Trios, 
was  not  the  less  so  at  the  majestic  rolling  of  the  organ 
that  would  follow  it;  just  emblem  of  the  devotion  for 
all  good  things  which  we  had  in  our  hearts.  There 
came  J.  G.,  a  set  of  airy  crotchets  in  the  shape  of  a 
man;  and  II.  K.  (always  ready  with  his  tenor,  his 
joke,  and  his  breathing  nod  of  acquiescence),  for 
whom  I  shall  have  another  pang  in  my  conscience 
if  I  do  not  write  to  him  (not  because  he  will  die,  but 
because  he  will  think  my  friendship  is  dead,  which  it 
can  never  be),  and  C.  C,  who  groaned  a  hundred  times 
of  an  evening   in   the   fullness  of  his    satisfaction    (I 

•  The  Novclloj.     Sec  Charlet  Lamb's   letter  to  Hunt,  and  the  Chnptcr  on 
Eari  in  the  Essays  of  Elia.  —  Rn 


42  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

hope  to  hear  shortly  that  henevolent  grind  of  his 
epiglottis)  ;  and  the  G.s'  pleasant  specimens  of  hu- 
manity ;  and  Kate  II.,  a  beauty  fit  to  take  cotlee  with 
the  party  in  the  Rape  of  the  Lock :  — 

"  On  her  white  breast  a  sparkling  cross  she  wore, 
Which  Jews  might  kiss,  and  infidels  adore. " 

And  it  was  as  Catholic  too  as  that  of  Belinda. 
Kate  was  tall,  had  a  i\nc  black  head  of  hair,  with 
eyes  to  match,  and  a  face  made  for  a  portrait.  When 
she  came  home  from  the  play,  and  sat  down  in  her 
long  scarlet  mantle,  showing  only  her  throat  and  fine 
curls,  and  sparkling  smiles,  you  saw  how  many  eyes 
had  been  looking  at  her  from  the  pit.  A  husband 
carried  her  oft'  to  a  distance,  and  we  never  saw  her 
again,  which  was  unfair:  I  wonder  how  these  hus- 
bands reconcile  it  to  their  consciences.  C.  L.  came 
there  sometimes  "  to  wonder  at  our  quaint  spirits," 
with  a  quainter  spirit  of  his  own.  He  would  put  up 
with  no  anthems  but  Kent's,  and  with  no  songs  but 
Water  parted  from  the  Sea.  His  sister  humbly  sug- 
gested, at  a  beautiful  passage  in  Mozart,  that  she 
thought  there  was  some  merit  in  that.  He  would 
not  hear  of  it.  What  was  the  consequence?  Why, 
that  he  got  loved  by  everybody  in  spite  of  his  in- 
tolerance ;  which,  with  him,  is  apt  to  have  more  hu- 
manity in  it  than  the  liberality  of  other  men. 


THE   WISHING-CAP.  43 


No.  IV. 
A   WALK   IN  THE   CITY. 

Rursus  et  urbe  finii. —  Ovid. 
Again  to  enjoy  the  city. 

WHEN  I  entered  the  metropolis  on  my  pres- 
ent visit,  I  lighted  with  my  Wishing-Cap  on 
St.  Paul's  Cathedral.  Could  I  have  fancied  a  devil 
with  me  on  so  sacred  a  place,  I  should  have  taken 
myself  for  Don  Cleofas  in  the  novel ;  for  roofs  and 
walls  fly  open  before  me,  as  easily  as  I  flyover  them  ; 
and  I  saw  in  an  instant  the  whole  neighborhood,  with 
all  that  was  going  on  inside  the  houses.  The  inhabi- 
tants need  not  be  alarmed,  as  it  is  not  my  intention  to 
pursue  the  likeness  between  this  paper  and  the  Devil 
on  Two  Sticks  any  farther  at  present.  I  shall  content 
myself  with  expressing  the  agreeable  surprise  that 
seized  me  on  observing  a  little  room,  the  inhabitant  of 
which  was  nursing  an  abundance  of  plants  and  flowers 
against  the  spring.  Among  them  was  even  an  orange 
tree.  Tlic  very  spirit  of  the  Flora  Domestica  seemed 
to  be  there.  Surely,  thought  I,  Nature  must  love  those 
who  have  so  much  love  for  her.  If  they  iiave  joy, 
the  joy  must  be  doubled  ;  and  though  they  be  full  of 
sorrow,  tiiere  must  be  still  room,  as  in  the  cup  of  the  I 
Arabian,  for  the  rose-leaf  to  swim  at  lop. 

At  their  old  place  of  resort  in  St.  Paul's  Church- 
yard, I  used  to  meet  the  survivors  of  the  diuntr  pai- 


44  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

ties  of  Mr.  Johnson,  the  respectable  bookseller.  There 
was  G.,  buckling  himself  up,  with  his  arms  ci^ossed, 
for  a  controversy ;  and  F.,  like  a  little  old  white- 
headed  lion,  "  full  of  sound  and  fury,"  but  by  no 
means  "  signifying  nothing ;  "  and  L.  E.,  one  of  a 
volatile  generation,  who  have  the  art  of  settling  them- 
selves into  teachers ;  and  good  old  gaunt  Bonnycastle 
(whom  I  name  openly  because  he  is  no  more),  full  of 
his  anecdotes  and  his  Shakespeare,  and  showing  his 
teeth  when  he  smiled,  like  a  Houyhnhnm  condescend- 
ing to  wear  a  human  shape  :  and  last,  but  not  least,  that 
whole  body  of  the  magistracy  personified,  Horace- 
loving  old  Kinnaird,  a  romantic  aristocrat,  to  whom 
God  save  the  King  was  a  requiem,  and  a  bow  from 
a  court  officer  a  beatific  vision.  His  frame,  poor 
fellow  !  was  like  a  square  mile  of  dropsy  ;  but  he  had 
a  large  sparkling  black  eye,  like  a  boy  ;  and  he  quoted 
his  Horace,  and  told  his  anecdote  of  "•  my  lud  North" 
to  the  last.  For  all  his  excess  of  loyalty,  he  was  hu- 
mane to  us  Jacobins,  his  adoration  of  rank  being 
mainly  connected  with  a  notion  of  its  high  breeding. 
To  give  him  quotation  for  quotation, — to  answer, 
when  he  said,  — 

"  Persicos  odi,  puer,  apparatus,"  — 

"Ah,  Mr.  Kinnaii'd,  and  that  the  elegant  invitation 
to  Maecenas,  — 

'  Tyrrhena  regum  progenies,'  "  — 

was  a  bond  of  union  with  him  forever. 

I  take  a  melancholy  satisfaction  (being  an  author) 
in  walking  down  Paternoster  Row.  The  booksellers 
hereabouts  and  eastwards  do  not  make  tlieir  shop 
windows  so  lively  as  those  of  the  Strand  and  West 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  45 

End,  Mr.  Hunter,  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard,  humane- 
ly shows  us  a  portrait  of  Mr.  Edgeworth  or  Mr.  Day, 
to  qualify  the  dryness  of  his  divinity  ;  *  but  the  mere 
warehouse  look  of  the  shops  of  Messrs.  Longman 
and  others  is  a  satire  on  the  trade. 

The  City  and  the  Borough  contain  the  most  classi- 
cal ground  in  the  metropolis.  In  the  former,  besides 
Pope  and  Gray,  were  born  three  out  of  the  four  great 
English  poets,  —  Chaucer,  Spenser,  and  Milton:  the 
literary  clubs  and  tavern-meetings  of  the  age  of  Shake- 
speare were  held  in  Fleet  Street  and  Cornhill ;  and 
Shakespeare's  theatre  was  over  the  water  by  the 
Borough.  Another  stood  near  the  present  Apothe- 
caries' Hall,  in  Blackfriars.  From  the  Borough  Chau- 
cer set  out  on  tlie  journey  to  Canterbury  with  his 
Pilgrims.  I  have  touched  upon  these  matters  before  ; 
but  I  repeat  them  here,  partly  for  the  pleasure  of 
doing  so,  and  partly  to  remark  how  the  celebrity  aris- 
ing from  authorship  survives  every  other.  Old  city 
palaces,  the  dwellings  of  a  proud  nobility,  have  fallen 
one  after  the  other :  you  must  now  dig  for  their  me- 
morials in  dusty  books.  Political  tumults  have  sha- 
ken perhaps  every  street  in  London  :  you  must  search 
for  them  in  old  chronicles,  which  are  not  read  by  one 
person  in  a  million.     But  in  the  living  productions 


•  Richard  Lovcll  Edgeworth,  brother  of  Maria  Edgeworth.  "  Mr.  Edgc-- 
worth,"  says  Sydney  Smith,  in  a  review  of  the  essay  on  Irish  Bulls,  "seems 
to  possess  the  sentiments  of  an  accomplished  gentleman,  the  information  of  a 
scholar,  and  the  vivacity  of  a  first-rate  harlequin.  He  is  fuddled  with  animal 
spirits,  giddy  with  constitutional  joy;  in  such  a  state  he  must  h.ive  written  on, 
or  burst.  A  discharge  of  inlt  was  an  evacuation  absolutely  necessary  to  avoid 
(atal  and  plethoric  congestion."  Mr.  Day  is  the  good  and  eccentric  Thomas 
Day,  author  of  Sandford  and  Mortnn.  —  Kn 


46  THE   WISHING-CAP   PAPERS. 

of  genius  survive  at  once  the  rare  individuals  born, 
and  the  phices  that  gave  them  birth.  A  petty  inci- 
dent in  the  life  of  one  of  these  men  shall  be  repeated 
a  hundred  times  to  do  honor  to  a  particular  spot.  It 
is  said  to  be  on  record,  that  Chaucer  was  fined  a 
shilling  for  beating  a  friar  in  Fleet  Street,  —  a  cir- 
cumstance that  hardly  seems  compatible  with  the 
character  of  the  gentle  poet,  who  describes  himself 
as  shy  in  his  manners,  and  going  along  with  his  eyes 
bent  on  the  ground.  But  if  the  reader  has  been  in 
the  south,  and  seen  what  sturdy  vagabonds  there  are 
among  reverend  persons,  trudging  along  with  their 
hard,  sneering  faces,  their  staves,  and  their  dirty  dvug- 
get  cloaks,  the  provocation  seems  far  from  unlikely  ; 
especially  when  it  is  considered  that  our  poet,  for  all 
his  gentleness,  was  somewhat  of  an  uproarious  re- 
former. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  it  is  not  easy  to  walk 
about  London  and  indulge  in  retrospective  meditation. 
The  noise  being  great,  as  Cowley  would  say,  is  little. 
It  might  serve  to  deafen  itself,  like  the  Falls  of  Niaga- 
ra ;  but  to  be  shouldered  out  of  one's  reverie  is  not  so 
pleasant.  It  seems  as  impossible  for  anybody  but  a 
hypochondriac  to  think  in  Cheapside  as  for  a  fish  in 
the  Channel  to  be  at  rest.  Yet  I  prefer  a  hundred 
times  making  my  way  in  the  most  crowded  streets  to 
walking  along  a  suburban  city  street,  which  is  neither 
town  nor  country,  —  neither  City  nor  West  End.  In 
the  City,  shops  and  a  certain  bustle  are  fitting.  Every- 
thing ought  to  be  alive,  —  the  pavement,  the  windows, 
the  prospect.  A  genuine  piece  of  quiet  is  good,  but 
this  must  be   in  some  old  street  or  corner.     Bread 


THE    WISHING- CAP.  47 

Street  has  a  right  to  be  tranquil,  both  because  it  is 
ancient  and  because  Milton  was  born  there.  To  go 
through  Christ-Hospital,*  when  my  old  school-fellows 
are  at  their  books,  is  a  pleasant  transition  from  the 
bustle  of  grown  life  to  the  dreams  of  boyhood.  Any 
Lpot,  where  you  meet  with  a  piece  of  antique  build- 
ing, a  Gothic  archway,  or  an  old  tottering  house  with 
a  coat  of  arms  upon  it,  is  a  happy  variety.  I  have  a 
particular  respect  for  Austin  Friars,  for  a  reason 
which  I  shall  give  prcsentlv.  But  rather  than  walk 
in  one  of  your  "  respectable  "  new  streets,  such  as  the 
"gcivteel"  ramifications  out  of  Blackfriars  Road  or 
the  Cify  Road,  I  would  take  my  stroll  through  all 
the  old  alleys,  from  Pudding  Lane  to  Pie  Corner.  I 
must  have  either  antiquity  to  remind  me  of  the  past 
generations,  or  something  busy  and  going  on  to  warm 
my  heart  with  the  present.  A  new  monotonous  brick 
street,  full,  perhaps,  of  government  dependants,  who 
pass  their  lives  between  "the  desk's  dead  wood  "  and 
a  vegetation  in  those  long  lines  of  pots  from  the  brick- 
kiln, —  if  I  were  one  of  them,  I  would  sooner  live  in 
a  brick-field  itself,  provided  there  were  a  single  tree 
to  look  at  from  my  window.  It  is  true  they  walk  out 
of  an  evening  in  the  dusty  roads.  O,  charitable  Sur- 
rey Theatre,  and  Sadler's  Wells,  and  thou  Bagnigge 
(who  ought  to  be  in  being,  if  thou  art  not),  wrongly 
arc  yc  despised  by  the  independent  gentlemen  who 
are  fortunate  enough  to  vegetate  and  be  in  flower  at 
the  West  End  !    What  the  coach-maker  and  tailor  are 


*  Thi^  Hunt  maintains,  in  his  Autobiography,  is  its  proper  name,  and  not 
ChriM'«  Hrwpi'xl,  »«  T,.'<mb  cilU  it  in  hi^  two  essays  on  the  old  school.  —  Ed. 


48  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

to  them,  helping  them  to  their  movable  pots  and 
their  tulip  fashions,  arc  ye  to  the  sadder  and  more 
thinking  generation  of  the  dwellers  in  by-places. 
O,  half  price  at  the  great  theatres !  much  more  foul- 
mouthed  are  they  who  cry  out  against  thee,  because 
thou  disturbest  their  polite  sympathy  at  the  fourth 
act,  than  the  throng  of  money  economists,  who,  re- 
leased from  their  long  and  respectable  patience,  burst 
in  upon  thy  expanded  doors,  time  enough  to  supply 
themselves  with  criticism  for  the  next  week  on  Mr. 
Kean  and  Mr.  Macready,  and  Mr.  Liston  in  the  farce. 
Besides,  wliat  would  our  worthy  London  'prentices 
do  in  the  absence  of  their  old  city  sports  and  tumul- 
tuous meetings,  when  the  cry  of  "  clubs  !  "  used  to  fur- 
nish them  with  a  proper  supply  of  hard  blows  and 
sympathy  for  one  another?  To  you,  gentle  sub-urban- 
ites  (not  excepting  the  Cobourg,  though  its  name  be 
modern  and  its  gentility  somewhat  vociferous),  to  you 
they  repair  "  to  light  their  wasted  urns,"  —  to  rub  off 
the  scurf  generated  by  money-getting  and  hard  ser- 
vice, and  fit  themselves  for  becoming  creditors,  magis- 
trates, and  givers  of  good  dinners.  Unfortunately, 
this  intellectual  regimen  is  not  so  good  for  digestion 
as  the  foot-ball  and  target-shooting,  in  which  om* 
gallant  apprentices  excelled  of  old.  Our  shopmen 
partake  with  others  of  the  sickliness  of  a  lettered 
generation.  They  must  have  their  tea  to  carry  oiY 
the  vapors,  and  to  generate  more.  "  Mighty  roast 
beef"  is  an  enemy  not  to  be  encountered  with  the  old 
impunity  ;  and  gout  and  peevishness  occupy  their  arm- 
chairs, amidst  a  world  of  provoking  comforts,  at  a  time 
of  life  when  your  citizen  used  only  to  be  reasonably 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  49 

bilious.  This  is  attributed  to  the  progress  of  civili- 
zation, and  to  "  us  youth,"  the  authors  who  grow 
sickly  ourselves  in  writing  against  effeminacy.  But 
with  the  leave  of  those  who  at  once  complain  and 
are  proud  of  tl>e  refinement  of  the  age  in  which 
they  live,  our  civilization  is  not  so  extreme  as  we 
pretend.  No  state  of  man  has  arrived  at  a  proper 
pitch  of  civilization  in  which  fiiir  play  is  not  attended 
to  between  its  intellectual  and  corporal  faculties.  I 
confess,  "  for  my  own  private  eating,"  I  would  rather 
have  been  a  citizen  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth,  my 
cheeks  glowing  not  only  with  beef  and  pudding,  but 
with  fresh  air  and  a  hundred  merry  games ;  but, 
nevertheless,  my  content  to  be  a  sick  author  in  the 
nineteenth  century  "  hath  a  preferment  in  it."  I 
think,  with  a  modern  philosopher,  that  we  must 
come  round  again  to  our  gymnastics  at  last ;  and, 
when  we  do  this,  having  meanwhile  got  our  books 
and  our  love  of  liberty  into  the  bargain,  the  world 
will  be  better  off  than  if  London  contained  the  only 
gallant  apprentices  going,  and  the  rest  of  Europe 
were  full  of   slavery  and  superstition. 

Some  drawbacks  on  the  health  of  our  ancient 
citizens  must  not  be  forgotten.  Their  streets  were 
narrow,  which  ultimately  produced  a  plague;  and,  in 
the  time  of  licnry  the  Eighth,  when  Erasmus  visited 
England,  it  appears  that  the  nation  who  now  pride 
themselves  above  all  others  on  the  becoming  clean- 
liness of  their  houses  (for  Dutch  cleanness  is  dull 
excess),  were, — with  lumiility  be  it  spoken,  —  one 
of  the  filthiest  under  the  sun.  1  cannot  refer  to  the 
passage,  but  I  have  a  vivid  recollection  of  it.  lie 
4 


5©  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

describes  our  sitting  or  dining-rooms  as  incrusted  with 
a  mass  of  dirt  and  refuse,  ill  concealed  by  the  rushes 
strewed  over  it,  and  never  swept  away.  A  sense  of 
what  is  due  to  humanity  ultimately  increases  in  every 
respect  with  the  progress  of  knowledge  ;  and  this  is 
what  makes  me  hope  that  we  shall  at  last  find  out 
the  secret  of  being  both  healthy  and  wise. 

When  Erasmus  was  in  Englaod  he  lodged  in  Aus- 
tin Friars. 

Austin  Friars,  I  love  thee  :  and  yet  it  is  not  for 
this.  Still  less  is  it  for  St.  Austin  and  his  brethren  ; 
nor  yet  for  thy  being  so  quiet  and  well-bred  a  re- 
treat. It  is  because  of  the  feelings  with  which  I  used 
to  turn  down  thine  archway,  when  a  boy,  to  visit 
the  family  of  the  T.'s.  The  T.'s,  reader,  were  among 
the  most  eminent  families  in  the  mercantile  world, 
and  remain  so  still.  The  princely  character  of  the 
English  merchant,  has  perhaps,  never  been  carried 
higher  than  by  some  of  them.  But  the  charm  of  a 
respectable  English  family  is  ever  to  be  found  in- 
doors. The  T.'s  never  forsook  the  friends  thev  had 
known  so  long,  in  spite  of  politics  and  misfortune. 
I  used  to  think  sometimes  that  an  East  India  Di- 
rector, who  visited  them,  looked  rather  askance  at 
dinner-time  upon  the  stuff  of  my  school  coats  ;  but 
a  smile  from  A.  T.,  or  a  challenge  to  a  glass  of 
wine  from  the  father,  who  used  to  sit  (to  my  equal 
veneration  and  terror),  panting  with  asthma,  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  soon  reassured  me.  As  for  the 
stranger,  privately  speaking,  I  thought  that  my  Hor- 
ace and  Demosthenes  gave  me  a  right  to  sit  at  table 
with  any  man  :  and  T  think  so  still.     To  this  house, 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  5£ 

with  its  music  and  its  kindness,  and  to  another  at 
the  other  end  of  the  town,  where  there  was  a  gal- 
lery of  pictures,  I  attribute  much  of  the  coloring  of 
my  after-life,  —  I  mean  of  my  ideas  and  likings.  Both 
had  gardens ;  the  latter  of  a  size  as  well  as  tranquil- 
lity enough  to  surprise  a  visitor  in  London  (at  least, 
it  cuts  an  important  figure  in  my  memory),  and  the 
Drapers'  Gardens  abutted  on  it ;  so  that  the  imagi- 
nation, in  the  very  midst  of  the  city,  reposed  on  gar- 
den upon  garden.  But  the  best  thing  in  the  house, 
even  better  than  the  matronly  grace  and  kindness  of 
the  mistress  of  it,  was  a  little  apartment,  one  of  two 
or  three  which  the  best-hearted  girl  upon  earth  had 
to  herself,  and  to  which  I  used  to  hasten  up  with 
my  mother  before  dinner,  when  there  was  no  music 
practising  below.  There  was  a  small  set  of  book- 
shelves in  it,  containing,  among  other  books,  the 
Turkish  Spy,  —  a  work  that  used  to  puzzle  me  ex- 
ceedingly, and  which,  I  will  be  bound  for  it,  was  as 
great  a  puzzle  to  A.  [I  long  to  mention  her  name, 
for  it  is  as  feminine  and  handsome  a  one  as  can  be 
conceived,  and  four  syllables  long  to  boot ;  but  I 
fear  to  startle  the  unaffected  modesty  of  the  bearer 
with  a  more  public  mention  than  I  can  help.]  This 
place  was  a  little  sanctuary  in  my  eyes.  It  was  a 
beautiful  sight  to  see  the  excellent  but  care-worn  per- 
son that  brought  me  with  her  met  aflcctionatcly  at 
the  door  with  both  outstretched  hands  of  a  fine  girl 
of  eighteen,  and  served  with  all  the  respect  and 
attention  that  could  have  waited  on  a  princess.  I 
wonder  how  I  can  write  about  it  with  dry  eyes. 
Many  years   afterwards,  when  the    new    generation 


52  THE    WISHING-CAP   PAPERS. 

had  grown  up,  and  parted  different  ways,  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  A.  once  again  (now  no  longer  T.), 
and  showing  her  my  eldest  born,  whom  I  had  named 
after  her  family.  Time  had  not  taken  away  her 
smile.*  I  miglit  have  known  her,  perhaps,  still,  not- 
withstanding my  politics ;  and  I  have  a  hundred 
times  reproached  myself  that  I  did  not  try. 


No.  V. 
WHITEHALL. 

Veterum  penetralia  regum. —  Virgil. 
The  in  sides  of  the  old  abodes  of  kings. 

THE  more  I  loiter  about  my  old  places  of 
abode,  the  more  I  long  to  stay.  What  I  relate 
has  no  pretensions  to  the  notice  of  the  antiquary. 
He  is  acquainted  with  it  already.  My  antiquities 
are  all  out  of  Pennant,  with  the  exception  of  what  I 
glean  here  and  there  from  the  wits  and  poets.  The 
only  value  of  my  pictures  (if  any)  is  in  the  coloring, 
and  in  the  figures  occasionally  introduced. 

Charing  Cross  was  so  called  from  one  of  the  affec- 
tionate memorials  set  up  by  Edward  the  First,  in 
honor  of  places  at  which  his  wife's  body  rested  on  its 
way  to  interment  at  Westminster.     The   cross  here 


*  Thornton  Leigh  Hunt,  the  "dear  little  T.  H."  of  Elia's  Witches  and 
Other  Night  Fears ;  and  the  subject  of  one  of  Lamb's  poems.  We  hope  the 
reader  is  familiar  with  Leigh  Hunt's  beautiful  lines  To  T.  H.  L.,  Six  Years 
Old,  during  Sickness.  —  A.  T.  is  Almeria  Thornton,  of  whom  and  of  her 
family  there  is  considerable  additional  information  in  The  Autobiography  of 
Leigh  Hunt.  —  Ed. 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  53 

was  the  last.  Its  place  is  now  occupied  by  the  statue 
of  Charles  the  First,  an  unfitting  ornament  for  a  free 
city.  Indeed  it  can  be  considered  in  no  other  light 
than  that  of  an  insulting  rebuke.  Nobody  is  respon- 
sible for  the  insult  now,  because  it  has  been  of  long 
standing ;  but  the  spirit  that  has  maintained  and  al- 
lowed it  is  not  favorable  to  liberty,  nor  just  to  the 
true  spirit  of  the  constitution.  The  constant  assump- 
tion, on  the  part  of  this  representative  of  Charles  the 
First,  of  a  right  to  beard  it  thus  ostentatiously  among 
the  people,  and  look  in  a  triumphant  manner  towards 
Whitehall,  has  its  eflect,  even  in  stone  and  brass. 
The  forms  of  encroachment  make  way  for  tlie  sub- 
stance. These  are  the  helps  to  the  gradual  introduc- 
tion of  soldiers,  that  are  now  suflcrcd  to  stand  sentinel 
at  museums  and  theatres,  certainly  in  contradiction  to 
the  spirit  of  English  liberty.  A  free  people  ought 
not  to  l^e  familiarized  in  this  manner  with  royal  dom- 
inations and  liveries.  There  is  a  bust  of  Charles  the 
First  indecently  overlooking  the  avenue  to  tlic  House 
of  Commons.*  When  the  passage  was  undergoing 
repairs  some  vcarsback,  tliC  bust  was  missed  by  a  late 
minister,  and  eagerly  inquired  after.  The  workmen 
satisfied  the  anxiety  of  the  minister,  and  all  went 
right.  Charles's  illegal  entrance  into  the  House  of 
Commons,  with  the  intention  of  seizing  the  five  mem- 
bers (the  proceeding  whicli  afterwards  brouglit  him 
to  the  block),  rendered  liis  appearance  in  such  acjuar- 
ter  still  more  insulting.  It  is  true,  there  are  statues 
in  other  places,  of  princes  of  the  house  that  displaced 

*  Tliis  btitt  docs  not  appear  to  have  been  put  up  in  Pennant's  time.  He 
speaks  of  it  as  existing,  but  not  in  its  present  situjtiun.  It  would  be  curious  to 
know  who  put  it  there. 


54  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

his  family.  In  Russell  Square  we  have  even  a  Whigj 
nobleman  and  a  Whigr  statesman.  But  Charles's 
statue  is  the  most  conspicuous  and  in  the  most  con- 
spicuous and  crowded  place  of  any  in  London;  and 
Charles  Fox  would  not  be  allowed  to  confront  him 
in  the  Parliament  Avenue,  where  he  has  at  least  as 
much  right  to  appear.  Even  a  Whig  sovereign  is  nijt 
allowed  to  see  fair  play ;  which  is  surely  unthankful 
in  one  quarter,  and  not  eminently  unslavish  in  anoth- 
er. In  a  thoroughfare  behind  Whitehall  (skulking  out 
of  sight,  but  "  insinuated,"  as  it  were,  "  into  the 
boxes  "  )  is  a  statue  of  James  the  Second  ! 

All  the  noble  thoroughfare,  now  called  Whitehall, 
with  the  buildings  on  either  side,  extended  along  the 
river  as  far  as  Scotland  Yard  on  one  side,  and  up  to 
the  street  turning  into  Spring  Gardens  on  the  other, 
occupies  the  ground  of  the  immense  palace  formerly 
existing- under  the  same  name.  It  was  begun  by  the 
Earl  of  Kent  in  the  reign  of  the  third  Henry,  and  be- 
came the  palace  of  the  Archbishops  of  York,  and  the 
residence  of  Wolsev.  It  is  the  scene  of  the  masquer- 
ade in  Henry  the  Eighth.  A  great  masquerade  has 
been  played  there  by  Time.  Here  Wolsey,  that  mag- 
nificent "Jack-priest  of  the  world,"  displayed  his 
pomps  and  vanities,  grew  fat  and  diseased  with  de- 
bauchery, gave  out  imperial  healths  in  his  gold  cups  ; 
and  at  last  burst  like  a  bubble.  Henry  condescended 
to  buy  the  house,  and  went  swelling  both  it  and  him- 
self in  his  turn,  till  he  became  too  fat  to  write  his 
name.*     The  various  exercises  which  he  pursued  in 

*  An  historical  fact.  He  had  a  seal  made  to  stamp  with  instead,  and  must 
be  imagined  moving  his  body  and  arm  round  to  achieve  the  signature,  like  a 
porpoise  with  something  stuck  in  his  fin. 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  55 

this  place  (for  there  were  a  tennis-court,  tilting-yard, 
cock-pit,  and  bowling-green,  and  he  was  fond  of 
robust  games)  appear  to  have  only  been  made  subser- 
vient to  the  prodigiousness  of  his  appetites.  Eating 
and  drinking,  gallantry  and  divinity,  he  fell  to  them 
all  with  the  thirsty  self-will  and  iron  nerves  of  an 
athlete  ;  only  his  divinity  made  him  careful  to  marrv 
before  he  murdered.* 

The  pomps  and  vanities  of  Elizabeth  were  better 
warranted,  though  she  lectured  a  bishop  out  of  her 
pew  for  alluding  to  them.  Her  three  thousand  dress- 
es (for  such  was  the  number  found  in  her  wardrobe) 
have  almost  as  many  excuses,  when  we  recollect  what 
a  noise  she  made  as  queen  and  woman,  and  what  a 
number  of  high  and  gallant  tastes  were  prepared  to 
admire  her.  It  is  true,  she  had  "  too  much  sense," 
was  ''  too  great  a  queen,"  &c.,  but  in  these  matters 
too  much  sense  is  very  apt  not  to  be  enough  ;  nor  do 
we  find  that  women,  or  even  men,  of  the  greatest 
and  gravest  sense,  are  above  tlie  little  artifices  that 


•  Fuller,  in  his  Church  History,  tells  a  Rood  story  of  Henry  the  Eighth  and 
his  ffxjl.  "Kint;  Henry,"  says  the  old  divine,  "had  lately  set  forth  a  book 
against  Luther,  endeavoring  the  confutation  of  his  opinions  as  novel  and  un- 
sound." None  suspect  this  kins's  Lick  of  leariiins  (though  many  his  lack  of  lei- 
sure from  his  pleasures)  for  such  a  design  ;  however,  it  is  probable  some  o»!ier 
GARDENER  gathered  the  flowers  (made  the  collections), though  King  Henry 
had  the  honor  to  wear  the  posy,  carrying  the  credit  in  the  title  thereof 

To  requite  his  paihs  the  pope  honored  him  and  his  successors  with  a  specious 
title,  "A  Defender  of  the  K.iith."  .  .  .  There  is  a  tradition,  that  Kin;^ 
Henry's  fool  (though  more  truly  to  be  termed  by  another  name),  commg  into 
the  court,  and  finding  the  king  transported  with  an  unusual  joy,  boldly  asked  of 
l.im  the  cause  thereof;  to  whom  the  king  answered,  it  was  because  that  the  pope 
had  honored  him  with  a  style  more  eminent  than  any  of  his  ancestors.  "  O,  good 
Harry,"  quoth  the  fool,  "let  thou  and  I  defend  one  another,  and  let  the  faith 
alone  to  defend  itself."  —  Ed. 


50  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

help  to  set  off  their  persons.  Age  and  misfortune 
make  a  difference,  but  the  misfortune  must  be  new 
indeed  that  diminishes  the  vanity  of  a  tlu'one.  In 
those  times  pomp  and  splendor  were  thought  to 
belong  as  much  to  the  person  of  the  sovereign  as 
the  state ;  though  nothing,  it  must  be  confessed,  was 
omitted  or  discontinued  that  could  bring  round  the 
world  to  a  dirtcrcnt  way  of  thinking.  Here,  in  the 
tilt-yard  at  Whitehall,  did  Elizabeth,  "  in  her  sixty- 
fifth  year,  wrinkled  face,  red  periwig,  little  eyes, 
hooked  nose,  skinny  lips,  and  black  teeth,"  pre- 
side over  the  chivalrous  exercises,  and  receive  the 
homage  of  her  gallant  knights,  who  stormed  alle- 
gorical forts  to  get  at  her  "  beauty,"  and  died  in 
all  sorts  of  eloquent  despairs  if  she  averted  the  heav- 
en of  her  looks.  It  was  a  set  of  poetical  grown  chil- 
dren "  making  believe,"  and  more  grave  and  self-de- 
ceiving than  smaller  ones.  For  we  must  not  suppose 
that  the  self-deception  was  confined  to  Elizabeth. 
Her  adoring  courtiers  would  marry  secretly  against 
her  will,  and  occasionally  be  moved  into  a  prosaical 
sense  of  her  age  and  her  skinny  lips  ;  but  one  charm 
stands  instead  of  another,  and  serves  the  latter  with 
its  own  results.  Elizabeth  being  a  great  queen,  and 
able  to  gratify  ever  in  so  many  ways  the  self-love  of 
her  admirers,  would  remain  an  attractive  woman 
long  after  all  pretensions  had  ceased  in  any  other 
station.  Wit  and  good  nature  have  done  as  much  for 
women  ;  and  even  deformity  has  been  held  by  some  a 
fascination ;  so  much  has  mere  sensation  to  do  in 
most  extreme  cases,  beyond  any  other  impulse. 
James  the  First,  that  slatternly  pedant  and  very  ill- 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  57 

contrived  personage,  kept  up  the  spectacles  of  the  tilt- 
yard,  and  was  the  cause  of  much  finery  in  others. 
But  the  groat  patron  of  martial  exercises  was  his  son 
Henry.  After  the  filial  fashion  of  heirs  apparent, 
Henrv  aficcted  a  policy  quite  opposite  to  that  of 
his  father ;  and,  like  all  heirs  apparent  who  die 
before  they  come  to  the  throne,  was  a  popvdar  and 
hopeful  prince.  It  is  to  James  the  First  the  public  are 
indebted  for  the  noble  banqucting-house  built  by  Inigo 
Jones.  I  have  sometimes  stood  and  looked  at  it  till  I 
thought  that,  by  one  of  the  hidden  analogies  between 
the  fine  arts,  the  beautiful  proportions  of  the  upper 
part  of  the  front  affected  nie  like  a  piece  of  music. 
Let  the  reader  stand  and  measure  with  his  eye  the  pro- 
portions between  the  windows  and  the  spaces  about 
them,  and  iinagine  this  or  that  part  to  be  contracted 
or  enlarged,  and  he  will  feel  how  injurious  would  be 
the  alteration.  The  glory  of  Whitehall  was  at  its 
height  in  the  time  of  James  and  Charles  the  First; 
Inigo  Jones  built  for  the  court,  Rubens  and  Vandyke 
painted  for  it,*  and  Ben  Jonson  wrote  for  it.  Roy- 
alty had  not  found  out  its  weak  side,  nor  learnt  to  be- 
come jealous  of  natural  greatness.  Genius  was 
thought  only  an  accessary  to  "  the  fair  State,"  and  was 
allowed  to  put  forth  its  full  lustre.  Louis  the  Four- 
teenth told  Boileau  that  he  had  always  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  to  spare  for  his  conversation  whenever  he 
chose  to  visit  the  court.     And  this  was  thought  a  won- 

•  Holbein  was  employed  at  Whitehall  under  the  Tiidors.  He  died  there  of 
the  plague,  and  is  supposed  to  have  been  buried  in  the  churchyard  beloiiyinK 
to  St.  Catherine  Crcc,  near  the  India  House.  Vandyke  also  died  in  England, 
and  was  buried  in  Old  St.  Paul's.  The  Academy  should  give  him  a  monument 
ID  the  New. 


58 


THE    WISIIING-CAP    PAPERS. 


derful  fiivor  ;  and  so  it  was,  as  times  went ;  yet  what 
was  it  more  than  a  good  bargain  made  for  himself  by 
a  dull  gentleman  \vith  a  man  of  wit?  This,  however, 
was  nothing  to  poor  Racine,  who  languished  like  a 
lily  and  died,  because  the  king  was  displeased  with 
him.  —  Painting  is  still  more  welcome  at  court  than 
poetry.  Poets,  with  all  their  flattery,  have  arrogant 
ways ;  assume  crowns  of  laurel,  and  talk  of  bestow- 
ing immortality.  They  jostle  the  sovereign  in  his 
throne  with  another  sovereignty,  which  is  of  a  suspi- 
cious character,  and  disdains  the  common  foshions 
of  mortality.  But  painting  takes  its  place  as  part  of 
the  show.  It  offers  the  most  visible  and  ornamental 
display  of  genius  with  the  least  pretensions  to  it,  and 
with  the  greatest  flattery  to  places  and  persons ;  and 
accordingly  has  alwaNs  been  welcome.  Even  an 
American  and  half  Republican  (the  late  Mr.  West) 
was  liked  at  Windsor ;  though  perhaps  there  was  a 
particular  zest  in  having  an  American  for  a  royal 
painter.  In  the  time  of  the  Stuarts  there  was  a  gen- 
erosity in  the  treatment  of  artists,  which  argued  much 
for  the  intelligence  of  the  patrons. 

Rubens  (who  was  employed  in  negotiations)  car- 
ried his  art  with  such  a  high  hand,  that  it  seems 
doubtful  whether  he  was  an  ambassador  condescend- 
ing to  be  an  artist,  or  an  artist  submitting  to  be  an 
ambassador.  His  pupil  Vandyke  married  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  British  earl.  It  has  been  said  that  architec- 
ture was  not  appreciated,  though  good  architects  were 
employed.  The  court  had  the  good  fortune  to  light 
on  a  man  of  genius;  but  his  pay,  they  say,  shows 
what   was  thought  of  his   art.     Now  it  is  true  that 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  59 

Inigo  Jones,  as  Surveyor  of  the  Works,  had  but  eight 
and  four  pence  a  day,  and  forty-six  pounds  per  annum 
for  house  rent,  a  clerk,  and  extras.     But  it  remains  to 
be  shown  how  long  he  was  occupied  in  the  business 
of  his  office.     Genius  deserves  all  it  can  get ;  but  it 
may  be  countenanced  in  a  variety  of  ways  ;   and   if  it 
grow  wealthy  at  last,  as  Inigo  did,  nobody  can  com- 
plain.    The  royal  countenance  procured   him  a  great 
deal   of  employment,  and    Ben  Jonson   accuses  him 
of  thinking  himself  of  so  much  importance  as  to  aspire 
to    be    made    a   marquis.     The  jealous    poet,   whose 
masques  he  ornamented  too  well  with  his  machinery, 
condescended  to  write  a  satire,  in  which  he  reproaches 
him  with  commencing  life  with  "  forty  pounds  a  year 
in  pipkins."     Jones  might  have  had  a  large  sum  of 
money  given  him   for  every  design  ;   but   his   profits 
would  then  have  become  cnoimous,  and  beyond  all 
proportion.     There  appears  to  be  considerable  justice, 
upon    the   whole,  in  the    treatment  whicli    genius  ex- 
periences from  the  world.     Fashion  may  overdo    the 
thing  one  way,  and  superiority  to  a  man's  age  be  a 
drawback  another  ;  but  there  is  fair  play  in  the  main. 
An  architect  is  obliged  to  get  money,  like  a  builder ; 
but  he  has  the  honor  besides,  and  more  profit.     The 
painter,  though  he  has  workmen  also  in   his   pupils, 
labors    hard    himself,   and   gets     profit    in  the   same 
manner.      Rubens     had    three    thousand    pounds  tor 
painting    tiie  ceiling  of  the  Banqueting-house.     The 
poet  is  apt  to  get  least  of  all  ;  but  this  is  owing  partly 
to  the   causes  before  alluded    to,  ami    partly    to    tlie 
greater  volatility  of  his  temperament,      lie   is  not  so 
accommodating  to  others,  nor  so  prudent  in   liimselt. 


6o  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

He  takes  a  wider  range  of  thought  and  imagination, 
gets  more  pleasure  in  that  airy  circle,  and  if  he  gets 
more  sorrows  likewise,  looks  for  a  more  exalted  fame, 
and  feels  himself  to  be  one  of  the  dictators  of  poster- 
ity. If  all  tliis  does  not  make  up  to  him  for  what  he 
endures,  the  nature  of  things  renders  it  necessary  tliat 
more  good  should  be  got  out  of  him  than  out  of  any 
other  artist,  because  all  the  world  can  read  books  and 
profit  by  them  ;  whereas  few  of  us  can  see  fine  pic- 
tures ;  and  fine  architecture  is  still  rarer,  and  of  less 
importance.  The  poet  must  content  himself  with  the 
noble  fatality  of  his  destiny,  and  look  for  reward 
elsewhere.  It  is  his  sympathies  with  the  many  that 
keeps  him  poor,  — the  most  honorable  of  all  poverties. 
It  is  clear,  froai  all  history,  that  great  poets  might 
be  as  rich  as  any  other  men  of  genius ;  but  they  have 
always  some  starting-point  in  them,  tangible  in  some 
way  or  other,  to  the  demands  of  the  many,  and 
liable  to  carry  them  off  from  their  success.  This 
was  the  case  with  Dante,  Petrarch,  and  Milton,  with 
Spenser  (though  his  sympathy  took  an  awkward  di- 
rection, and  must  needs  subject  him  to  the  anger  of 
the  Irish),  with  Chaucer,  who  got  into  a  four  years' 
imprisonment  in  his  old  age  for  being  a  Wickliffite, 
with  the  patriot  Greek  poets,  and  more  or  less  with 
almost  every  poet  of  eminence.  Even  the  best  cour- 
tiers among  them  contrive  to  remain  poor.  A  dra- 
matist has  the  best  chance  ;  for  the  wider  his  sympa- 
thy, the  greater  chance  the  pit  have  of  liking  him  ; 
and  it  was  a  theatie  that  made  Shakespeare  rich. 

The  lamentation   respecting  the  little  pay  to  court 
architects  —  (I  believe  there  is  no  such  lamentations 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  6 1 

now,  whoever  the  architects  may  be)  —  has  been  re- 
newed in  speaking  of  Sir  Christopher  ^\''rcn.  The 
saLiry  of  this  excellent  person  "  for  building  .St.  Paul's 
from  the  foundation,  was  not  more  (as  appears  from 
the  public  accounts)  than  two  hundred  pounds  per 
annum  ;  his  allowance  for  building  all  tlic  parochial 
churches  of  the  citv  of  London  was  about  a  hundred 
per  annum,  and  the  same  for  the  repairs  of  Westmin- 
ster Abbey  ;  he  was  director  and  chief  architect  of  the 
Royal  Hospital  at  Greenwich,  gratis^  and  cheerfully 
contributed  to  that  work  his  time,  labor,  and  skill  for 
several  years,  without  salary,  emolument,  or  reward  ; 
preferring  in  this,  as  in  every  other  passage  of  his 
life,  the  public  service  to  his  own  private  advantage." 
(Seward's  Anecdotes,  quoted  by  Dr.  Drake  in  the 
notes  to  his  interesting  edition  of  the  Taller,  vol.  ii., 
p.  13.)  This  looks  formidable  enough.  It  is  true 
that  sovereigns  are  fond  of  cheap  payments  for  every- 
body but  themselves;  but  still,  if  the  art  they  counte- 
nance is  such  a  one  as  fashion  and  private  interest 
can  employ,  the  artist  stands  a  good  chance  of  be- 
coming rich.  Sir  Christtjpher,  I  believe,  did  so  in 
spite  of  the  time  he  spent  in  drawing  plans  for  gov- 
ernment. He  was  a  member  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons in  two  Pat'liaments. 

It  is  generally  supposed  that  Charles  the  First  went 
to  the  scallbld  through  one  of  the  front  windows  of 
the  Banqucting-house.  But  he  came  out  at  the  north 
side.  Pennant  informs  us  that  a  passage  was  bro- 
ken on  purpose.  It  was  remaining  in  his  time,  "  and 
was  a  door  to  a  small  additional  buikling  of  late 
date."     Most  likely  it  is  still  in  being.      This  was  the 


62  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

hour  of  Charles's  h"fe  which  did  him  most  credit. 
Cromwell  might  have  envied  it  at  the  close  of  his 
usurpation.  Marvell,  a  lover  of  liberty,  has  done  it 
justice :  — 

"He nothing  common  did,  or  mean, 
Upon  that  memorable  scene, 
But  with  liis  keener  eye 
The  axe's  edge  did  try  ; 

Nor  called  the  gods  with  vulgar  spite  "* 

To  vindicate  his  helpless  right, 
But  bowed  his  comely  head 
Down  as  upon  a  bed. " 

When  will  a  court-poet  write  such  verses  upon  a 
freeman? 

After  a  "sullen  interval"  on  the  part  of  Cromwell 
(who  nevertheless  got  softened  by  the  court  air,  drank 
his  wine  freely,  and  had  "  cunning  musicians  "  to  play 
and  sing  to  him),*  in  came  "  Bacchus  and  his  Revel- 
lers,"—  Rochester's  wits  and  Grammont's  maids  of 
honor,  Charles  the  Second,  who  somehow  or  other, 
has  contrived  to  be  a  favorite  with  some  very  regu- 
lar moralists  as  well  as  politicians,  —  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  for  instance,  and  Dr.  Jolyison,  —  had  in  fact 
many  excuses  for  his  general  conduct,  setting  aside 
even  the  usual  indulgence  allowed  to  kings  in  mat- 
ters of  pleasure.  He  had  gone  through  a  series  of 
early  experiences,  very  imperious  to  a  sense  of  the 
dignity  and  hopefulness  of  human  nature.  The 
sharpness  of  adversity,  joined  to  his  natural  acute- 
ness,   must  often  have  enabled    him    to    see  too  far 

*  Cromwell  took  delight  in  a  good  voice,  and  had  a  church  organ,  which  the 
Puritans  put  down  at  Oxford,  privately  set  up  for  his  amusement  at  one  of  the 
palaces. 


I 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  63 

even  into  the  spirit  of  loyalty,  which  did  him  such 
romantic  services.  Ilis  little  court,  while  in  exile, 
was  a  perpetual  scene  of  jealousies  and  complaints; 
and  the  sudden  tide  of  homage  and  popularity  which 
rushed  to  meet  him  on  the  change  of  his  fortune 
must  have  contributed  to  give  no  pleasanter  turn  to 
the  early  furrows  cut  in  his  face  by  doubt  and  anx- 
iety. He  is  called  '•  the  merry  monarch  ;  "  but  mirth 
in  him,  as  in  many  others,  was  set  ot^'  by  a  ground 
of  melancholy.  The  French  vivacity  and  voluptu- 
ousness which  he  inherited  on  the  mother's  side, 
had  a  certain  hang-dog  contradiction  in  it  derived 
from  his  father.  He  loved  repose  still  better  than 
enjoyment.  "Sauntering,"  said  one  of  his  compan- 
ions, "  was  the  true  sultana  queen  he  delighted  in." 
He  was  often  seen  in  the  Park,  accompanied  by  his 
dogs,  and  feeding  the  ducks  he  kept  tliere  ;  and  he 
woidd  chat  familiarly  with  the  people,  which  made 
them  love  him.  In  Pennant's  London  is  a  picture 
of  the  then  state  of  the  parade  and  horse-guards, 
with  his  majesty,  attended  by  his  peers  and  his 
puppies. 

Most  of  Charles's  mistresses  had  lodgings  within 
the  precincts  of  Whitehall.  It  was  one  enormous 
magazine  of  princes  and  their  household  officers,  civil 
and  military,  cooks,  wine-cellars,  bowling-greens,  ten- 
nis-grounds, pimps,  gamesters,  lords  and  ladies  of 
all  sorts.  Drvden,  in  an  epilogue  written  the  year  be- 
fore his  death,  tliough  he  appears  always  to  have  re- 
tained a  liking  for  his  old  master  and  his  '•  fair  words," 
does  not  mend  the  matter.  Speaking  of  the  licen- 
tiousness of  that  time,  he  says. — 


64  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPiiRS. 

"The  sin  was  of  our  native  growth,  'tis  true  ; 
The  scandal  of  tlie  sin  was  wholly  new. 
Misses  they  were,  but  moilcstly  concealed  ; 
Whitehall  the  naked  Venus  first  revealed. 
Who,  standing  as  at  Cyprus,  in  her  shrine, 
The  strumpet  was  adored  with  rites  divine." 

The  scandal  drew  in  its  horns  in  the  time  of  James 
the  Second,  who  had  more  of  the  Jesuit  in  him  ;  but 
the  time  was  now  approaching  when  the  bustle  of 
Whitehall  was  to  be  broken  up,  and  the  place  no 
longer  to  be  a  seat  of  royalty.  James  was  obliged  to 
write  a  letter  to  his  invader,  William,  inviting  him  to 
take  up  his  abode  at  St.  James's.  The  invitation  was 
accepted,  and  his  majesty  in  return  advised  to  take 
his  departure  from  Whitehall.  William  the  Third 
resided  in  other  palaces  ;  and  the  only  visible  part 
now  remaining  of  the  old  establishment  is  the  Ban- 
queting-house,  which  has  long  been  converted  into  a 
chapel. 

No.  VI. 

ST.  JAMES'S  PARK. 

"  TN  the  time  of  King  Henry  the  Eighth,"  says  a 
X  note  to  Dr.  King's  poems,  in  Mr.  Chalmers's 
collection,  "  the  park  was  a  wild,  wet  field ;  but 
that  prince,  on  building  St.  James's  Palace,  en- 
closed it,  laid  it  out  in  walks,  and  collecting  the 
waters  together,  gave  to  the  new  enclosed  ground 
and  new-raised  buildings  the  name  of  St.  James's. 
It  was  much  enlarged  by  Charles  the  Second  ;  who 
added  to  it  several  fields,    planted  it  with  rows  of 


THE    WISIIING-CAP.  65 

lime  trees,  laid  out  the  mall,  formed  the  canal  with 
a  decoy,  and  other  ponds  for  water-pool.  The  lime 
trees,  or  tilia.  whose  lilossoms  are  uncommonly  fra- 
grant, were  probably  planted  inconsequence  of  a  sug- 
gestion of  Mr.  Evelyn,  in  his  Fujiiifugium^  published 
in  1661." 

Charles  the  Second  was  very  fond  of  the  Park.  His 
habit  of  walking  there,  attended  by  his  dogs,  both 
sad  and  merry,  has  been  noticed  before.  His  ducks, 
which  he  also  amused  himself  with  feeding,  inhab- 
ited a  spot  called  Duck  Island,  which  was  erected 
into  a  "government,"  in  order  to  furnish  the  French 
exile  and  wit,  St.  Evremond,  with  a  pension.  Bird- 
cage Walk  must  not  be  forgotten,  which  was  an 
aviary  of  Charles's  raising,  and  retains  its  appella- 
tion. Waller  speaks  of  the  improvements  of  St. 
James's  Park  in  the  gratuitous  style  of  a  poet.  The 
libertines  of  the  court  were  to  sport  about  the  canal, 
like  the  harmless  wantons  of  a  golden  age  ;  while 
Charles  walks  among  the  trees  in  all  the  dignity  of  a 
Numa,  and  settles  the  destinies  of  the  world  :  — 

"  Methinks  I  see  the  love  that  shall  be  made. 
The  lovers  walkiiiR  in  that  amorous  shade  : 
The  gallants  dancing  by  the  river  side  ; 
They  bathe  in  summer,  and  in  winter  slide. 
Methinks  I  hear  the  music  in  the  boats. 
And  the  loud  Kclio  which  returns  the  notes  : 
While  overhead  a  flock  of  new-sprung  fowl 
Hangs  in  the  air,  and  docs  the  sun  control ; 
Dark'ning  the  sky,  they  hover  o'er,  and  shroud 
The  wanton  sailors  with  a  feathcr'd  cloud. 
Beneath,  a  shoal  of  silver  fishes  glides, 
And  plays  alxiut  the  gilded  barges'  sides  : 
The  ladies  angling  in  the  crystal  lake, 
Feast  on  the  waters  with  the  prey  they  take  : 
At  once  vicloririus  with  their  lines  and  eyes. 
They  make  the  fishes  and  the  men  their  prize." 


66 


THE    VVISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


The  vigor  witli  which  the  king  phiys  at  mall  is 
then  doted  on  ;  and  the  poet  proceeds  in  some  strik- 
ing verses : — 

"  Near  this,  my  Muse,  what  most  delights  her,  sees 
A  living  gallery  of  aged  trees  ; 
Bold  sons  of  earth,  that  thrust  their  arms  so  high, 
As  if  once  more  they  would  invade  the  sky. 
In  such  green  palaces  the  first  kings  reigned, 
Slept  in  their  shades,  and  angels  entertained : 
With  such  old  counsellors  they  did  advise, 
And  by  frequenting  sacred  groves  grew  wise. 
Free  from  the  impediments  of  liglit  and  noise, 
Man,  thus  retir'd,  his  nobler  thoughts  employs. 
Here  Charles  contrives  the  ordering  of  his  states, 
Here  he  resolves  his  neighboring  princes'  fates  ; 
What  nation  shall  have  peace,  where  war  be  made. 
Determined  is  in  this  oraculous  shade." 

Again,  in  some  verses  not  so  good  :  — 

"  Here,  like  the  people's  pastor,  he  does  go, 
His  flock  subjected  to  his  view  below  : 
On  which  reflecting  in  his  mighty  mind. 
No  private  passion  does  indulgence  find  : 
The  pleasures  of  his  youth  suspended  are, 
.\nd  made  a  sacrifice  to  public  care. 
Here,  free  from  court  compliances,  he  walks, 
And  with  himself,  his  best  adviser,  talks: 
How  peaceful  olive  may  his  temples  shade. 
For  mending,  and  for  restoring  trade  : 
Or,  how  his  brows  may  be  with  laurels  charg'd, 
For  nations  conquer'd  and  our  bounds  enlarg'd." 

Alas,  it  should  have  been,  — 

"  For  pensions  taken,  and  for  France  enlarg'd." 

All  that  his  majesty  thought  of  "  in  this  oraculous 
shade,"  was  how  to  pass  his  time  and  get  money  for 
his  pleasures. 

"  Methinks  I  see  the  love  that  shall  be  made." 

This  it  was  more  easy  for  our  grave  poet  to  predicate. 
The  Park  is  the  scene  of  some  of  the  most  libertine 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  67 

plays  of  that  period.  I  do  not  know  where  the  Mul- 
berry Garden  stood,  which  gives  a  title  to  one  of  the 
comedies  of  Sedley  ;  perhaps  on  the  site  of  Spring 
Garden,  which  was  a  place  of  entertainment  up  to  a 
late  period.  The  milk  fresh  from  the  cow.  which  is 
still  sold  under  the  trees  at  the  entrance  from  that 
quarter,  and  which  has  a  pleasing  etVect  on  emerging 
from  the  streets,  appears  to  be  a  remnant  of  the  for- 
mer traffic. 

Marlborough  House,  now  the  residence  of  Prince 
Leopold,  was  one  of  the  national  acknowledgments 
to  the  Duke  of  Marlborough.  It  was  built  partly  in  a 
garden  belonging  to  the  queen.  Her  majesty  had  thus 
her  defender  and  her  old  friend  the  duchess  by  her 
eide  ;  and  on  the  other  side,  in  the  palace  still  called  by 
his  name,  lived  her  old  friend  and  admirer  (who,  they 
say,  courted  her  in  his  youth,)  Sheffield,  Duke  of 
Buckingham.  He  married  her  sister,  natural  child  of 
James  the  Second  by  the  daughter  of  Sir  Charles  Sed- 
ley. Sheffield  built  the  mansion  and  laid  out  the 
garden.  He  adorned  the  four  sides  of  the  house  with 
inscriptions,  one  of  which  is  much  to  the  purpose  : 
"  Fastidiosus  spectator  sibi  molestus,"  —  "A  fastid- 
ious spectator  is  his  own  annoyance."  This  is  the 
nobleman  of  whom  the  Tatler  speaks  as  the  "  Duke 
tliat  lives  at  Marylebone."  A  strange  story  is  related 
in  Pennant,  of  his  giving  a  dinner  to  "  the  most  in- 
famous sharpers  of  llie  lime,"  who  gambled  at  that 
place,  and  of  a  toast  with  which  he  concluded  it : 
"  May  as  many  of  us  as  remain  unhanged  next  spring, 
meet  here  agai.n."  '•  I  remember,"  says  Pennant, 
"  the  facetious  C^iin  telling  this  story  at  IJath,  within 
hearing  of  the  late   Lord  Chcstcrlicld,  when  his  lord- 


68  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

ship  was  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  worthies  of  the 
same  stamp  with  the  above."  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  the  company  was  more  suited  to  the  author  of  the 
Letters  than  the  writer  of  the  Minor  Poems.  Sheffield 
is  one  of  the  "  twinkhng  stars  "  in  the  Miscellanies,  and 
has  a  lurking  goodness  in  the  midst  of  his  libertinism. 
He  has  been  accused  of  pride  and  arrogance  ;  but 
they  say  he  was  amiable  in  private.  His  sharpitng 
connections  do  not  look  like  the  man  of  whom  his 
widow  speaks  so  highly  in  his  Remains ;  but  it  is 
astonishing  what  strange  things  come  together  in 
high  life,  and  with  what  accommodating  philosophy 
the  great  regard  their  own  contradictions.  The  lie 
on  which  their  pretensions  are  founded  is  the  cause 
of  it,  and  renders  it  in  a  certain  degree  excusable. 
A  man  cannot  well  feel  that  the  world  would  consent 
to  make  distinctions  that  have  no  real  existence,  with 
impunity. 

St.  James's  Palace  was  built  by  Henry  the  Eighth,  on 
the  site  of  an  ancient  hospital  for  lepers.  The  name 
w^as  the  name  of  the  hospital.  The  palace  was 
fitted  up  by  William  for  the  Princess  Anne  and  her 
husband.  Prince  George  of  Denmark.  She  retained 
it  as  her  residence  when  queen,  ami  it  has  since  been 
the  headquarters  of  the  British  Court.  Pennant  says, 
that  although  the  outside  is  unsightly,  it  is  the  most 
convenient  palace  for  regal  parade  of  any  in  Europe. 
There  were  some  interesting  pictures  there  in  his 
time,  probably  still  remaining.  One  of  them  was 
"  the  diminutive   Manhood  of  Geoffrey    Hudson."  * 

*  Scott  introduced  Geoffrey  or  Jeffrey  Hudson  into  Peveril  of  the  Peak.  He 
also  honors  the  little  man  willi  a  long  note,  to  which  we  refer  the  curious  reader. 
—  Ed. 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  69 

"  Here,"  says  Pennant,  "  is  to  be  seen  the  fiimous  pic- 
ture by  ]Mabuse,  of  Adam  and  Eve.  Mr.  Evelyn 
justly  remarks  the  absurdity  of  painting  them  with 
navels  and  a  fountain  of  rich  imagery  amidst  the 
beauteous  wilds  of  Paradise.  Raphael  and  Michael 
Angelo  made  the  same  mistake  of  the  navel,  on  which 
the  learned  Sir  Thomas  Browne  w^astes  a  long  page 
and  a  half  to  disprove  the  possibility."  With  the 
leave  of  these  worthy  gentlemen,  and  of  the  profound 
theosophist,  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo  knew  more 
about  these  navel  affairs  than  they.  The  fountain  is 
not  so  well ;  but  (not  to  say  anything  of  what  is  im- 
possible to  Omnipotence),  Adam  and  Eve  were 
bound  to  be  complete  specimens  of  the  human  race ; 
patterns  and  prototypes,  as  well  as  progenitors.  As 
they  anticipated  our  growth,  so  they  anticipated  all 
the  rest  of  us  :  — 

"Adam  the  goodliest  man  of  men  since  bom 
His  sons,  the  fairest  of  her  daughters  Eve."  • 

The  goodliness  of  the  picture  desiderated  by  Mr.  Eve- 
lyn and  vSir  Thomas,  I  leave  all  people  of  taste  to 
imagine. 

In  books  of  fifty  and  a  hundred  years  back,  if  you 
meet  with  a  hungry  gentleman  who  did  not  know 
where  to  get  a  dinner,  you  always  find  him  sitting  on 
a  bench  in  the  Park.  Others  generally  accompany 
him,  most  of  whom  arc  politicians.  Bickcrstafl'  meets 
here  his  acquaintance  the  upholstLMcr,  who  lets  his 
affairs  run  to  ruin  in  his  zeal  for  the  King  of  Swe- 


•  .Sec  South'*  remarkable  sermon  on  The  Creation  of  Man  in  Goil's  Image. 
He  Mys  that  "  an  Aristotle  was  but  th-  riibhi'ih  of  an  Adam."  —  Kd. 


7©  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

den.*  People  do  not  appear  so  patient  nowadays 
to  hunger  and  thirst,  though  their  politics  are  more 
zealous  than  ever.  In  sympathizing  with  the  world 
at  large,  instead  of  confining  themselves  to  be  tragedy 
spectators  of  royalty,  they  have  learned  to  include 
their  own  rights.  They  may  die  by  other  means, 
they  may  be  ruined  by  a  bankruptc}',  or  be  hacked  and 
hewed  by  a  series  of  disappointed  hopes  ;  but  till  they 
are  fairly  put  an  end  to,  they  claim  the  common  priv- 
ilege of  eating  their  breakfast  and  dinner.  Besides, 
others  would  not  let  them  want  a  dinner.  Revolutions 
have  produced  a  tendency  to  diminish  the  extent  of 
royal  kitchens,  but  only  that  the  supcrflux  may  be 
shaken  to  the  many.  Rabelais  would  delight  to  see 
Gargantua  no  longer  considei'ed  as  everybody.  The 
two  pilgrims,  whom  he  ate  in  a  salad,  would  in  these 
times  have  at  least  made  considerable  objections. 

It  would  appear,  from  novels,  that  the  Park  enjoyed 
some  privileges  from  arrest.  In  Fielding's  Amelia, 
if  I  remember,  the  hero  often  walks  in  the  Mall, 
when  he  can  go  nowhere  else.  During  the  exist- 
ence of  the  old  Cathedn.l  of  St.  Paul's,  the  inside  of 
that  church  was   the  resort   of  the  hungry ;   who,  in 


*  The  character  of  the  political  upholsterer  is  by  Addison  :  it  is  one  of  the 
happiest  of  his  contributions  to  the  Tatler.  "  We  should  hope, "  says  Hazlitt, 
in  the  Round  Table,  "the  upholsterer  and  his  companions  in  the  Green  Park 
stand  as  fair  a  chance  for  immortality  as  some  modern  politicians."  Beau  Tibbs 
was  fond  of  sauntering  in  St.  James's  Park,  now  in  rags,  now  in  embroidery  ; 
and  hither  came  Miss  Hannah  (another  of  Goldsmith's  characters),  to  show  her 
finery  and  criticise  the  finery  of  others.  It  was  in  St.  James's  Park  that  the  free- 
holder saw  his  friend  the  Tory  fox-hunter  feeding  the  ducks.  If  the  reader  is  un- 
acquainted with  this  masterpiece  of  humorous  characterizdLion,  he  should  forthwith 
take  down  his  Addison,  and  read  the  three  little  papers  on  the  fox-hunter,  in  the 
Freeholder.  —  Ed. 


THE    VVISHING-CAP.  7* 

allusion  to  a  tomb  supposed  to  contain  the  body  of 
Humphrey,  Duke  of  Gloucester,  gave  rise  to  the  say- 
ing of  dining  with  Duke  Humphrey. 

The  Mall  is  so  called  from  the  game  of  mall  to  which 
Waller  alludes.  Charles  the  Second  transferred  it  from 
Pall  Mall.  It  is  a  great  pity  that  these  and  similar 
exercises  have  been  left  oft'.  Without  canting  about 
the  degeneracy  of  the  times,  it  is  a  reasonable  deduc- 
tion, from  our  abandonment  of  healthy  and  manly 
games,  that  we  are  an  inferior  race  to  our  ancestors 
in  point  of  bodily  grace  and  vigor. 

In  a  house  looking  into  Mr.  Bentham's  garden,  in 
Bird-cage  Walk,  lived  Milton.  The  front  of  it  is  in 
York  Street,  and,  without  being  the  ancient  one,  is  in 
very  squalid  condition.  If  it  had  a  new  face  and  an 
inscription,  which  it  surely  deserves,  it  would  turn  to 
better  account  for  all  parties.  There  used  to  be  a 
bust  on  tlie  other  side,  which  wc  believe  Mr.  Ben- 
tham  put  up.  But  it  is  not  the  custom  of  that  emi- 
nent person  to  monopolize  a  good  thing,  and  he  ought 
to  let  as  many  people  know  of  the  house  as  possible 
It  is  the  privilege  of  Westminster  to  exhibit  a  spirit 
of  liberty  proportionate  to  the  encroachments  of  the 
other  power  that  lives  there. 

The  Horse-Guards  were  in  poor  condition  in  the 
time  of  Charles.  The  stables  looked  like  the  open 
corridors  of  an  old  inn  ;  and  a  toy  of  a  building,  vvitli 
staircase  outside,  appears  to  have  been  tiic  Guard 
House.  These  conclusions  are  drawn  from  the  print 
in  Pennant.  I  thought  tlic  design  <>f  ihr  pitsnil 
building  was  by  Vanbrugh  ;  but  Pennant  says  he  be- 
lieve? if  'vas  the  work  of  an  architect  of  the  name  of 


72  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

Vardy.  The  structure  is  not  older  than  the  reign  of 
George  the  Second.  There  is  something  fantastic  in 
the  custom  of  setting  two  soldiers  on  horseback  to 
mount  guard  in  those  tenements  at  the  entrance,  like 
a  couple  of  live  statues.  But  they  are  fine  specimens 
of  the  weight  and  steadiness  of  a  pair  of  English 
dragoons,  and  keep  a  gravity  becoming  their  situa- 
tions. Some  say  they  have  been  seen  eating  pud- 
ding and  apples  ;  but  this  is  what  I  will  not  believe. 

The  band  on  parade  is  worth  hearing.  They  play 
some  of  the  best  pieces  of  Mozart  and  Haydn,  which 
the  wind  carries  hither  and  thither  in  triumph.  I 
remember  taking  home  to  school  the  air  of  Non  piu 
aiidrai^  long  before  I  knew  the  name  of  Mozart. 
Here  war  is  to  be  seen  under  its  most  harmless  aspect, 
with  its  fringes,  its  colors,  and  its  gallant  sounds.  It 
is  all  holiday  play  and  gentle  service  ;  a  business  of 
steppings  and  salutations.  The  band-major  looks 
grave  and  ruling ;  the  blacks  toss  up  their  cymbals  in 
the  sun  ;  the  little  triangle-boys  emulate  their  long 
legs  ;  the  officers  step  along,  very  gentlemanly  ;  the 
companies  tread  solidly  at  their  elbows,  like  bodies 
with  their  soul  beside  them  ;  the  young  ensign  is  ad- 
mired in  the  middle,  carrying  his  colors  like  a  flutter- 
ing heart.  Anon,  the  noble  instruments  give  way  to 
the  drum  and  fife,  and  the  regiment  proceeds  for  the 
court-yard  in  a  livelier  and  more  familiar  step.  Dur- 
ing the  parade,  a  trumpet  and  a  stir  of  cavalry  are 
heard ;  and  a  fine  troop  of  dragoons  issue  forth  on 
their  long-tailed  black  horses,  the  trumpeter  on  a 
white  one  blowing  his  trumpet,  which  mingles  with 
the  instruments  of  the  foot,  and  makes  a  gallant  con- 


THE    WISHIXG-CAP.  73 

fusion.  Who  would  not  then  be  a  soldier,  and  dic- 
tate to  the  world?  Certainly  if  war  is  a  necessary 
evil,  it  is  pranked  up  and  recommended  to  us  in  the 
best  possible  manner.  Nature  will  do  her  utmost 
to  gild  her  bitterest  pills.  In  one  point  of  view, 
what  can  be  more  silly  than  those  gay  and  self-satis- 
fied persons,  marching  away,  in  the  long  run,  tohave 
their  throats  cut,  and  their  heads  blown  to  atoms.'' 
But  in  another,  what  can  be  more  reconciling  in  its 
necessity.^  What  more  calculated  to  bring  tears  of 
mingled  pity  and  admiration  in  our  eyes?  What  bet- 
ter way  could  have  been  found  out  to  enlist  the 
superfluous  part  of  society  into  its  roughest  and  most 
dangerous  service?  I  am  no  disciple  of  Mr.  Mal- 
thus.  He  either  cannot,  or,  being  a  clergyman,  dare 
not  handle  the  real  question,  which  I  think  it  re- 
quires no  great  knowledge  of  economy  to  see  into. 
But  wars  have  long  been  a  part  of  the  history  of 
mankind,  and  most  have  been  the  necessary  result 
of  some  modification  of  its  manners.  It  does  not 
follow  that  the  necessity  is  to  exist  forever,  or  that 
the  alternative  is  the  one  he  speaks  of.  The  present 
forms  of  societv  must  be  broken  up,  and  the  whole 
earth  properly  cultivated,  before  he  has  a  right  to 
argue  that  there  is  not  enough  for  all,  much  less 
that  -ivar  is  necessary  to  prevent  the  redundance 
of  population.  Sec  what  Mr.  Ilazlitt  has  said  on 
the  subject  at  the  end  of  his  Political  Essays.  In 
the  mean  time  an  end  is  not  likely  to  be  put  to 
war  by  making  mere  representations  of  its  misery, 
however  just.  God  knows  they  cannot  well  be  ex- 
aggerated.    See,  for  one  instance,  worth  a  tliousand,  a 


74  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

note  to  a  certain  Ode  to  Honor,  in  the  works  of  the 
Poet  Laureate,  the  Pilgrim  to  Waterloo.  The  point 
is  to  keep  our  reasoning  faculties  on  the  alert,  —  our 
liberties  of  thinking  and  speaking;  and  to  enable  our- 
selves to  detest  sophistry  and  time-serving.  One 
sound  philosophical  discovery  goes  farther  towards 
the  alteration  of  society  than  millions  of  complaints. 
The  danger  of  these  is,  that  the  very  suffering  will 
be  glad  to  relieve  itself,  and  run  into  the  gayety  of  de- 
spair. It  is  our  business  to  keep  ourselves  in  heart, 
as  far  as  a  present  necessity  goes,  and  in  heaith  of  mind 
not  to  be  imposed  upon  beyond  the  necessity. 


No.  VII. 
SPRING. 

Ah,  happy  hills  !  ah,  pleasing  shade  1 
Ah,  fields,  beloved  in  vain  !  —  Gray. 

HAIL,  beautiful  season  !  hail,  return  of  the  green 
leaves!  hail,  violets,  daisies,  and  buttercups! 
hail,  blue  sky ;  and  ye,  white  little  silver  clouds, 
"  g^y  creatures  of  the  elements,"  the  posterity  of 
your  turbid  sires  of  winter  time  ! 

Hail,  moreover,  ye  evidences  of  spring,  even  in 
cities !  Hail,  green  in  the  windows,  and  on  the 
ladies'  caps !  Hail,  coats  instead  of  great-coats ! 
Hail,  beaux  and  other  butterflies  !  Hail,  the  leaving 
off  of  fires  ;  provided,  dear  fires,  among  my  country- 
men, ye  are  left  off!     Great  encroachers  upon  sum- 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  75 

mer   time  are   ye  ;  mighty  disputers  of  the  sunshine 
with  May  and  June  ! 

There  is  a  tendency  all  over  the  temperate  part  of 
Eui'ope  to  anticipate  the  beauties  of  spring,  —  to 
fancy  the  season  more  forward  than  it  is,  or  to  com- 
plain that  it  is  otherwise.  I  find  this  in  Italy  as  well 
as  in  England.  Horace  Walpole  said  that  it  was  the 
fashion  to  say  there  was  no  winter  in  Italy.  There 
is  certainly  a  winter  sharp  enough  to  startle  foreign- 
ers ;  and  the  spring  in  Tuscany  is  far  from  prema- 
ture. I  have  not  found  the  weather  in  either  season 
diflcrent  from  what  Horace  says  of  the  snows  in 
winter,  and  Virgil  of  the  stormy  showers  in  spring. 
The  Priinavera^  or  spring  of  the  Italian  poets,  dis- 
appoints expectation  as  much  as  the  Aprils  and 
Mays  described  by  our  own.  Prhnav&ra  comes  in 
March,  and  is  properly  the  first  part  of  the  vernal 
season,  the  ver  primum  of  the  Latins.  The  blossom 
issues  forth  on  the  trees,  the  cranes  are  seen  travel- 
ling in  the  sky,  the  hedges  are  lively  with  violets 
and  periwinkles;  but  it  is  not  a  season  warranting 
what  the  poets  say  of  it,  and  warming  the  blood. 
Cold  winds  prevail,  as  with  us ;  the  snows,  lingering 
on  the  mountains,  embitter  them,  and  the  rains  arc  vi- 
olent. April  commences  the  true  poetical  spring,  and 
May  is  spring  confirmed,  the  real  season  of  the  "  no- 
velli  amori"  the  May  of  the  British  poets.  Whether 
the  seasons  alter  from  time  to  time  in  dilfcrent  parts 
of  the  world  is  a  point  contested.  Most  likely  tliey 
do.  But,  for  a  long  lime  past,  the  May  of  our  poets 
is  rather  Jiuie,  and  very  often  tiie  middle  and  end  of 
June  rather  than  the  beginning.     For  many  years  it 


76  THE    WISIIING-CAP    PAPERS. 

has  been  common  to  have  fires  as  late  as  tlie  old 
King's  birthday,  the  4th  of  June.  What  we  call 
spring  is  indeed  springs  literally  speaking ;  and  a 
very  beautiful  idea  the  word  gives  us.  The  ver  of  the 
ancients  appears  to  have  meant  the  rising  of  the  sap. 
Our  Saxon  term  is  more  lively  and  visible.  It  is  not 
merely  the  life,  but  the  leaping  of  the  season  ;  the 
gladness  of  its  pulse.  And  yet  the  vivacity  belongs 
rather  to  nature  than  to  us.  We  have  not  got  rid 
enough  of  our  colds  and  clothings. 

If  the  season  is  very  fine  indeed,  the  true  time  of 
enjoyment  in  England  is  the  one  that  Thomson  has 
selected  for  his  Bower  of  Indolence,  — 

"  A  season  atween  June  and  May, 
Half  praukt   with  spring,  with  summer  half  embrown'd." 

When  the  spring  came  this  year  in  Tuscany,  it  was  a 
great  pleasure  to  me  to  see  the  corn,  wine,  and  oil,  all 
preparing  to  flourish  together,  —  for  the  fields  are 
nothing  else.  What  are  meadows  and  cornfields  in 
England,  are  orchards  full  of  olives  and  vines  in  Tus- 
cany, with  the  corn  growing  betwixt  them.  The 
green  corn  running  in  close  stripes  among  the  olive 
trees,  and  the  preparations  for  the  budding  of  the 
vines,  —  it  being  the  custom  here  to  make  trellises 
of  reed-work,  really  elegant  in  many  parts  of  the 
hedges,  —  furnish  a  lively  spectacle.  But  spring,  as 
well  as  winter,  made  me  think  of  home.  I  put  on 
my  Cap,  and  pitched  myself  in  those  delicious  fields, 
all  over  daisies  and  buttercups,  which  go  sloping 
from  Hampstead  to  West  End  and  Kilburn,  —  fields, 
the   representatives  of  thousands  of  others  all  over 


THE    WISlilNG-CAP.  77 

Eno-land,  and  in  which  I  would  rather  take  a  walk 
"  atween  June  and  May  "  than  in  the  divinest  spot 
recorded  by  the  divinest  of  southern  poets.  It  is 
common  with  persons  in  love  to  fancy  that  everybody 
must  be  happy  ^vho  lives  in  the  society  of  the  object 
of  their  attachment.  In  the  same  manner,  when  I 
am  compelled  to  forego  the  privileges  of  my  Cap,  and 
confine  myself  to  WMshing  w'ithout  enjoying  (which 
is  sometimes  the  case),  I  cannot  help  envying  the 
reader  for  his  power  to  go  into  the  places  I  write  of. 
I  say  to  myself,  "  Now  somebody  will  take  it  into  his 
head  to  go  and  look  at  those  fields,  or  he  will  go  and 
look  at  those  he  is  more  acquainted  with  ;  or  he  will, 
or  he  ca7z,  go  into  some  English  field  or  other,  rich 
with  grass  and  powdered  with  flowers.  lie  will  see 
the  hedges  ;  he  will  sec  the  elms  and  oaks  (there  are 
no  elms  and  oaks  here).  He  will,  or  he  may  and 
can,  or  might,  could,  would,  should  walk  in  a  wood 
full  of  them.  Furthermore,  he  will  meet  with  some 
old  friends." 

Reader,  if  there  is  any  man  who  has  oflcnded  you, 
and  whom  you  find  it  hard  to  forgive,  forgive  him,  I 
entreat  you  ;  for  I  forgive  you,  and  you  are  the  most 
provoking  person  I  have  known  a  long  time.  I  could 
knock  the  paper  out  of  your  hand.  Don't  you  sit 
giggling  there,  you  other  reader,  C.  L.,  A.  B.,  or 
C,  or  whatever  title  pleased  thy  godfather's  car. 
Conscious  of  your  power  to  take  a  long  walk  through 
tiic  sun  and  dust,  you  take  advantage  ot  my  weakness 
to  triumph  over  me.  But,  lo  !  my  Wishing-Cap  is  on 
mc  in  all  its  glory.  The  very  mention  of  your  name 
makes  me  present.     I  am  with  you  ;  walk  with  you, 


78 


THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


talk  with  you.  It  was  I  who  sighed  just  now  while 
you  were  reading.  —  Reader,  we  are  reconciled  and 
together. 

Fortunately  I  am  not  of  a  temper  to  make  the 
worst  of  any  situation  I  happen  to  be  cast  in.  And 
I  look  upon  it  as  a  reward  for  my  love  of  Nature  that 
I  have  never  been  in  a  situation  in  which  I  had  not 
some  glimpse  of  her  to  console  me.  Even  in  prison 
I  had  a  little  garden  to  myself,  and  raised  my  own 
heart' s-ease.  It  may  not  be  the  most  grateful  thing 
in  the  world  to  think  of  a  jail  while  strolling  about 
the  most  classical  ground  in  Tuscany.  I  confess  I 
think  of  it  very  often.  But  Nature  will  excuse  me, 
because  my  dejection  is  owing  to  my  love.  If  I  had 
not  loved  her  so  much  at  home,  I  should  not  miss,  as 
I  do,  the  old  homestead.  I  do  what  I  can.  I  think 
of  Petrarch  and  Boccaccio,  of  Alilton  and  Galileo,  and 
Fiesole,  which  I  see  from  my  window,  and  which  is 
a  common  boundary  to  my  walks.  I  endeavor  to 
keep  the  vines  and  the  olive  trees  new  to  me.  Be- 
sides Virgil  and  the  Italy  of  books,  I  make  the  olives 
remind  me  of  Athens,  of  Plato,  and  Homer,  and  Soph- 
ocles, and  Socrates,  and  a  still  more  reverend  Name  in 
another  country,  who  went  up  into  a  mount  of  olives 
to  pray.  A  Dominican  convent  is  a  little  in  my  way, 
with  its  inscription  in  honor  of  the  fiery  saint,  "  the 
destroyer  of  heretics  ;  "  but  the  friars  no  longer  in- 
habit it,  and  I  endeavor  to  consider  even  the  Inqui- 
sition as  a  violent  note  struck  in  the  ears  of  mankind 
to  make  them  attend  to  the  doctrine  it  contradicted. 
Philosophy  has  separated  the  doctrine  from  its  abuse, 
and  the  Inquisition  is  no  more.     I  think  of  the  gayer 


THE    WISHIXG-CAP.  79 

sort  of  abuses,  the  red  side  of  their  cheek,  the  jollity 
of  a  refectory.     Pope's  picture  is  before  me,  of 

"  Happy  convents,  buried  deep  in  vines, 
Where  slumber  abbots  purple  as  their  wiues," 

(A  couplet  as  plump  and  painted  as  the  subject.)  The 
transition  to  Horace  and  Anacreon  is  a  pleasing  ne- 
cessity. I  am  in  the  very  thick  of  the  vines  of  Redi, 
the  author  of  the  Bacchus  in  Tuscan)-.  His  Bac- 
chus is  as  flourishing  a  god  as  ever,  and  sworn  by  as 
devoutly,  though  the  saints  have  displaced  his  image. 
Florence,  at  a  little  distance,  meets  the  turn  of  my 
eye  at  every  opening  of  the  trees.  In  short,  I  am  in 
a  world  of  poetry  and  romance,  of  vines  and  olives, 
and  myrtles  (which  grow  wild),  of  blue  mountains 
and  never-ending  orchards,  with  a  beautiful  city  in 
the  middle  of  it.  What  signifies?  I  think  of  an  Eng- 
lish field  in  a  sylvan  country,  a  cottage  and  oaks  in 
the  corner,  a  path  and  a  stile,  and  a  turf  full  of  dai- 
sies ;  and  a  child's  book  with  a  picture  in  it  becomes 
more  precious  to  me  than  all  the  landscapes  of 
Claude. 

I  intended  to  sprinkle  this  article  with  some  flowers 
out  of  the  Italian  poets;  but  positively  I  will  not  do 
it.  They  are  not  good.  They  are  not  true.  The 
grapes  are  sour.  Commend  me  to  the  cockney  sat- 
isfactions of  Chaucer,  vSpenser,  and  Milton,  who  talk 
of  "  merry  London,"  of  lying  whole  hours  looking  at 
the  daisies,  and  of  walking  out  on  Sunday  mornings 
to  enjoy  the  daisies  and  green  fields.  There  are  no 
daisies  here  that  I  can  see,  except  those  belonging  to 
the  Grand  Duke.  What  is  a  daisy  belonging  to  a  duke? 
Nature  is  not  to  be  put  upon  a  gentleman's  establish- 


8o  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

ment.  The  other  fine  houses  do  not  impose  upon 
me.  They  want  comfort  and  fireplaces,  and  instead 
of  parks,  and  other  natural  pieces  of  ground  about 
them,  have  vines  and  olives,  vines  and  olives  without 
end.  The  peasants  are  all  vine-dressers  and  olive- 
squeezers.  You  meet  a  piece  of  a  cow  occasionally 
on  your  table  ;  but  a  good,  handsome,  live  animal, 
with  a  low,  I  have  not  encountered  for  many  months. 
You  must  go  to  Lombardy  for  a  pasture.  There  are 
goats,  very  large  and  bucolic;  but  goats  in  England 
arc  poor  and  small,  which  is  the  proper  goat,  and 
renders  a  kid  pathetic.  The  only  one  I  have  a  re- 
spect for  is  the  companion  of  our  voyage,  given  us 
by  a  friend,  and  preserved  through  various  vicissi- 
tudes for  her  sake.  A  dog  belonging  to  an  acquaint- 
ance of  ours  inhospitably  bit  her  ear  oft',  and  the 
storms  at  sea  frightened  away  her  milk.  But  she  now 
reposes  for  life,  like  a  matron,  enjoying  herself  among 
scenes  more  native  to  her  palate  than  England  itself. 
If  the  sky  in  England  would  only  mitigate  a  little 
of  its  clouds  and  fogs  in  favor  of  one  of  its  country- 
women, and  of  a  modest  demi-exotic,  who  loves  a 
green  field  better  than  all  the  sugar-canes  of  his  an- 
cestors .  .  .  But  what  signifies  talking?  Suffice  it, 
that  an  Englishman  in  Italy,  who  loves  Italian  poetry, 
and  is  obliged  to  be  grateful  to  Italian  skies,  assures 
his  beloved  countrymen  (who  are  not  always  sensible 
<;f  the  good  things  they  have  about  them)  that  there 
is  nothing  upon  earth  so  fine  as  a  good,  rich  English 
meadow  in  summer  time.  That  English  Frenchman, 
La-Fontaine,  is  of  the  same  opinion;  for  when  he 
speaks  with  rapture  of  a  bit  of  turf,  and  says  there  is 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  Si 

nothing  to  equal  it,  it  must  he  recollected  that  such 
tin^f  is  more  native  to  England  than  to  France  ;  and  so 
he  would  have  told  us  had  he  come  over  to  England, 
as  he  ought  to  have  done,  and  taken  a  stroll  in  our 
fields  with  his  friend,  St.  Evremond.  Even  a  Tus- 
can's idea  of  a  garden  is  not  complete  without  a  piece 
of  turf,  though  the  podere,  or  farm,  encroaches  every- 
where, and  pounds  and  shillings  must  be  planted  in 
the  shape  of  olive  trees.  A  garden  in  the  English 
taste  is  a  "  miracolo  "  and  a  "  paradiso  ;  "  tlieir  poet- 
ry rises  within  them  at  the  sight  of  it,  but  they  think 
this  is  only  for  princes  and  grand  dukes.  Yet  Hor- 
ace could  not  dispense  with  his  grass  and  his  oak 
trees ;  and  the  valley  which  I  look  upon  from  my 
window  sparkles  in  the  Decameron  with  a  perpetual 
green.  Nature  inspires  great  authors,  and  they  repay 
her  by  rescuing  her  very  self  from  oblivion,  and  keep- 
ing her  transitory  pictures  fresh  in  our  hearts.  T/iey^ 
thank  God,  as  well  as  the  fields,  are  Nature  ;  and  so 
is  every  great  and  kindly  aspiration  we  possess. 

No.  VIII. 
RAINY-DAY  POETRY. 

Dicessit  ab  astris 

Humor,  et  ima  petit.  —  Lucan. 

Humor  sets  the  welkin  free, 

And  condescends  with  you  and  me. 

CRITICS    lament  over  a  number  of  idle  rhymes 
in  the  works  of  Swift,  that  may  come  under  the 
above  title  ;   and  wish,  at  least,  that  thev  had  never 
6 


82  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

been  published.  They  designate  them  as  the  sweep- 
ings of  his  study,  his  private  weaknesses,  unworthy 
of  so  great  a  genius,  and  exchiim  against  his  friends 
for  collecting  them.  I  really  cannot  see  the  humilia- 
tion. If  he  had  written  nothing  else,  there  might 
be  some  color  of  accusation  against  him  ;  though  I 
do  not  see  why  a  dean  is  bound  to  be  a  dull  private 
gentleman.  But  if  he  had  written  nothing  else,  I 
think  it  may  be  pretty  safely  pronounced  that  he 
would  not  have  written  these  trifles.  They  bear  the 
mark  of  a  great  hand,  trifling  as  they  are.  Their  ex- 
travagance is  that  of  power,  not  of  weakness  ;  and 
the  wilder  Irish  waggery  of  Dr.  Sheridan,  slatternly 
and  muddled,  stands  rebuked  before  them.  What 
should  we  have  done  had  we  lost  Mary  the  Cook-maid's 
Letter,  and  the  Grand  Question  ahout  the  Barracks.'' 
These,  to  be  sure,  are  excepted  by  everybody  ;  but  I 
like,  for  my  part,  to  hear  all  that  such  an  exquisite 
wag  has  to  sav.  I  except  the  coarseness  of  two  or 
three  pieces,  which  I  never  read.  I  wish  the  critics 
could  say  as  much.  I  have  such  a  disgust  of  this 
kind  of  writing  that  there  are  poems,  even  in  Chaucer, 
which  I  never  look  at.  But  this  does  not  hinder  me 
from  loving  all  the  rest.  Perhaps  I  carry  my  dislike 
of  what  I  allude  to  too  far.  It  is  possible  that  it  may 
not  be  without  its  use  in  certain  stages  of  society. 
But  so  it  is,  and  I  mention  it,  that  I  may  not  be 
thought  to  be  confounding  or  recommending  two 
different  things. 

It  is  our  own  fault  if  we  take  this  Rain3'-Day 
Poetry  for  more  than  the  author  intended  it.  It  is 
our  loss  if  we  do  not  take  it  for  as  much.     I  give 


THE    WISHING-CAx".  83 

it  this    title,  because  we  may  suppose  it  written  to 
while  away  the  tedium  of  rainy  days,  or  of  the  feel- 
ings   that    resemble    it.     There    is     also    Rainy-Day 
Prose;    of    a   great  deal  of  which  my  own  writings 
are  composed,  though    I  was   hardly  aware  of  it  at 
the   time.      I  relish    all  that    Swift    has    favored    us 
with,  of  either  kind.      The  only  approach  that  we 
minor  humorists  can  make  to  such  men,  is  to  show 
that  we  understand  them  in  all  their  moods,  —  that 
nothing  is  lost  on  us.     The  greatest  fit  of  laughter 
I  ever  remember  to  have  had,  was   in  reading    the 
Comviination  piece  against  William  Wood,  in  which 
all  his  enemies    are    introduced  execrating    him    in 
puns.     The  zest  was  heightened  by  the  presence  of 
a  deaf  old  lady,  who  had  desired  a  friend  of  mine 
and  myself  to  take  a  book,  while  waiting  to   see  a 
kinsman  of  hers.     Her  imperturbable  face,  the  shock- 
ing things  we  said  before    her,  and  even  the  dread 
of  being  thought   rude,   j^roduced   a  sort  of  double 
drama  in  our  minds,  extreme  and  irresistible. 

A  periodical  writer  derives  the  same  privileges 
from  necessity  which  other  men  do  from  wit.  The 
rainy  days  here  in  Italy  are  very  rare  compared  with 
those  of  England  ;  but  the  damps  whicli  tlic  latter 
produce  within  us  sometimes  make  their  appearance 
when  we  are  away  ;  and  a  .  .  .  In  short,  it  is  not 
necessary  to  inform  tiic  reader  that  periodical  writers 
produce  a  great  deal  of  rainy-day  poetry,  voluntary 
or  involuntary.  If  he  excuses  it,  all  is  well.  I  shall, 
therefore,  wlietiever  I  am  inclined,  make  use  of  this 
title  to  pass  otV  rhymes  that  I  have  more  pleasure  in 
writing  than  in  publishing.      The  other  day  I  was 


84  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

moved  to  vent  my  pluviose  indignation  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Ferdinand,  King  of  Spain  ;  a  personage  who 
has  had  the  extraordinary  fortune  (even  for  a  prince) 
to  become  the  spectacle  of  the  whole  world,  precisely 
because  he  is  destitute  of  every  quality  whicli  de- 
serves their  notice.  That  my  poem  might  be  as 
small  as  my  subject,  I  wrote  it  in  Lilliputian  lines 
and  miniature  cantos ;  but,  in  consequence  of  the 
variety  of  feelings  that  pressed  upon  me  as  I  pro- 
ceeded, three  out  of  the  four  became  neither  one 
thing  nor  t'other,  and  are  not  worth  indulgence. 
The  exordium  I  lay  before  the  reader,  because  it 
contains  an  anecdote  of  his  majesty's  first  appear- 
ance on  the  stage,  with  which  he  may  not  be  ac- 
quainted. I  had  it  from  a  Spanish  gentleman  now 
in  England. 

"I  sing  the  le:ist  of  things, — 
To  wit,  the  least  of  kings. 

Imprimis,  whc;n  the  nation 
First  raised  him  to  his  station, 
And  blest  him  as  he  rid 
In  triumph  to  Madrid, 
A  gentleman  who  saw  him 
(And  hugely  longed  to  claw  him) 
Said,  that  he  never  showed 
One  feeling  on  the  road, 
But  sat  in  stupid  pride. 
Staring  on  either  side. 
Letting  his  hand  be  kissed 
(I  think  I  see  the  fist). 
As  if,  where'er  they  took  it, 
They  meant  to  pick  his  pocket ; 
And  goggling  like  an  owl,  — 
The  hideous  beaky  fool ! " 

The  last  line  is  emphatic  !     I  had  not  patience  to  con- 
tinue in  a  proper  style  of  burlesque.     Ferdinand  has 


THE    WISHING-CAP,  85 

astonished  even  those  who  were  never  astonished  at 
kings  before.  And  yet  what  was  to  be  expected  from 
this  portentous  specimen  of  royalty,  —  royalty,  na- 
ked, instinctive,  unmitigated,  unadorned?  What  ex- 
amples he  had  before  him  !  What  an  education  ! 
What  contempt  of  decencies,  public  and  private ! 
What  a  motlicr,  what  a  minister,  what  a  father  !  The 
same  gentleman  who  related  to  me  the  above  anec- 
dote, told  me  that  he  had  seen  the  old  king  dining  in 
public,  and  that  the  spectacle  was  disgusting  beyond 
description.  Such  brutal  feeding,  such  pawing  and 
grinding,  such  absorption  in  the  immediate  appetite 
and  will,  and  contempt  of  everything  else  in  the 
world,  could  only  be  exhibited  by  one  who  was  ac- 
customed to  set  up  the  mere  consciousness  of  royalty 
as  superior  to  every  other  consideration.  This  is 
Ferdinand's  principle.  He  has  no  other,  nor  ever 
had,  even  when  he  petitioned  to  be  made  a  member 
of  Bonaparte's  family.  Bonaparte  dazzled  him,  like 
something  supernatural,  and  was  an  emperor  to  boot ; 
but  if  he  had  not  been  one,  it  would  have  made  no 
difference.  The  royal  will,  the  immediate  security, 
interest,  or  even  whim,  sanctions  everything;  and 
royalty  is  to  come  out  clear  from  the  furnace  upon 
the  strength  of  its  divine  right,  let  it  have  gone  through 
what  it  may.  How  much  right  have  we  to  complain 
of  it,  flattering  it  as  we  do,  even  in  the  best  regulated 
monarchies?  The  frog  in  the  fable  swelled  herself 
to  bursting,  as  it  was;  but  if  she  had,  besides,  had  all 
frogland  for  spectators  and  a2:)plaudcrs,  if  she  had 
been  puffed  up  with  huzzas!  and  vivas!  and  been 
made   a   worshipped  spectacle  wherever  she  curried 


86  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

herself,  who  would  have  wondered  at  all  her  chil- 
dren's bnrstinof  themselves,  one  after  the  other,  in  spite 
of  her  example?  I  pity,  for  my  part  (next  to  suffer- 
ing nations),  every  king  in  existence,  except  Ferdi- 
nand ;  and  will  pity  him  too  when  he  is  put  out  of  a 
condition  to  slaughter  those  who  would  have  made 
him  an  honest  man. 

Pleasant  C.  R.  !  let  me  recall  my  happier  rhymes 
and  rainy  days  by  thinking  of  thee.  C.  R.  is  one  of 
those  happy  persons  whom  goodness,  imagination, 
and  a  tranquil  art  conspire  to  keep  in  a  perpetual 
youth.  He  and  his  bi'other  once  called  upon  a  man 
whom  I  knew,  who  told  me  he  had  seen  "  the  young 
gentlemen,"  and  yet  this  man  was  not  old,  and  C.  R. 
was  seven-and-thirty  if  he  was  a  day.  C.  R.  has  a 
quaint  manner  with  him,  which  some  take  for  sim- 
plicity. It  is,  but  not  of  the  sort  which  they  take  it 
for.  I  could  hear  it  talk  for  an  hour  together,  and 
have  heard  it,  delighting  all  the  while  at  the  interest 
he  can  take  in  a  trifle,  and  the  entertainment  he  can 
raise  out  of  it.  His  simplicity  is  anything  but  foolish- 
ness, though  it  is  full  of  bonhomie.  He  is  a  nice 
observer.  At  the  same  time  he  is  as  romantic  as  a 
sequestered  schoolmaster,  and  will  make  as  grave 
Latin  quotations.  He  produces  a  history  out  of  a 
whistle.  He  will  describe  to  you  a  steam-engine  or 
a  water-mill,  with  all  the  machinery  and  the  noise  to 
boot,  till  you  die  at  once  with  laughter  and  real  in- 
terest at  the  gravity  of  his  enthusiasm.  He  makes 
them  appear  living  things,  as  the  fulling-mills  did  to 
Don  Qiiixote.  One  day  he  gave  us  all  an  account  of 
a  man  he  had  seen  in  the  Strand,  who  was  standing 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  8/ 

with  a  pole  in  his  hand,  at  the  top  of  which  was  a 
bladder,  and  underneath  the  bhidder  a  bill.  He  told 
us  what  a  mystery  this  excited  in  the  minds  of  the 
spectators,  and  how  they  looked,  first  at  "■  the  man," 
then  at  ''  the  bill,"  and  then  "  at  the  bladder  ;  "  —  and 
ajjain,  said  he,  they  looked  at  the  bladder,  then  at 
the  bill,  and  so  on,  ringing  the  changes  on  these  words 
till  we  saw  nothing  before  us  in  life  but  a  man  hold- 
ing those  two  phenomena.  We  begged  him  to  change 
the  word  ''  man  "  into  "  body,"  that  charm  of  allitera- 
tion might  be  added ;  and  he  complied  with  a  pass- 
ing laugh,  and  the  greatest  good  nature  conceivable, 
entering  into  the  joke,  and  yet  feeling  a  real  gravity  in 
commenting  upon  the  people's  astonishment.  This 
combination  of  ''  bill,  body,  and  bladder  "  was,  after 
all,  nothing  but  a  man  standing  with  an  advertise- 
ment of  blacking,  or  an  eating-house,  or  some  such 
thing.  We  have  been  thankful  ever  since  that  "  such 
things  are." 

I  once  rode  with  C.  R.  from  Gainsborough  to  Don- 
caster,  making  rhymes  with  him  all  the  way  on  the 
word  philosopher.  We  made  a  hundred  and  fifty, 
and  were  only  stopped  by  arriving  at  our  journey's 
end.  Readers  uninitiated  in  doggerel  may  be  startled 
at  this ;  but  nothing  is  more  true.  The  tvords  were 
all  diflcrent, and  legitimate  doggerel  rhymes;  though, 
undoubtedly,  the  rhymes  themselves  must  often  have 
l)ccn  repeated,  that  is  to  say,  the  same  consonants 
must  have  begun  ihcm.  The  following  is  a  rainy- 
day  production  on  tlic  same  subject,  exhausting,  wc 
believe,  the  real  alphabetical  quantum  of  rhymes,  with 
their  combinations.     But  it  is  submitted  with  defer- 


88  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

ence  to  the  learned.  We  dedicate  it  to  our  pleasant 
friend,  heartily  wisliiiig  we  could  have  such  another 
ride  \vith  him  to-morrow. 


You  talk  of  rhyming  to  the  word  Philosopher.  — 

That  jade  the  Muse  '■     It's  doubtless  very  cross  of  her 

To  stint  one  even  in  rhymes,  which  are  the  dross  of  her  ; 

I  can't  but  think  that  it's  extremely  gross  of  her: 

I  told  her  once  huw  very  wrong  it  was  of  her : 

If  I  could  help,  I'd  not  ask  one,  that's  poz,  of  her: 

I  would  not  quote  /rociimirii  humis  bos  of  her  ; 

Nor  earn  a  single  lettuce  yclept  Cos  of  her ; 

I  would  not  speak  to  Valcnaer  or  to  Voss  of  her  ; 

Nor  Dryden's  self,  although  the  Great  High  Joss  of  her : 

I  would  not  care  for  the  divinum  os  of  her. 

No,  though  she  rhymed  me  the  whole  tizos,  Jios,  ros,  of  her; 

Walking  in  woods  I  wouldn't  brush  the  moss  off  her: 

Nor  in  the  newest  green  grown  take  the  gloss  of  her: 

In  winter-lime  1  woiddn't  keep  the  snows  off  her; 

And  yet  I  don't  think  either  I  could  go  so  far: 

I'hy  anger,  certainly,  I  couldn't  show  so  far: 

I  didn't  think  the  hatchet  I  could  throw  so  far. 

Good  heavens  !  now  I  reflect,  I  love  the  nose  of  her: 

I  could  cut  off  my  hair  to  tie  the  hose  of  her: 

The  brightest  eyes  are  nothing  to  the  doze  of  her: 

Love  in  my  heart  the  smallest  keepsake  stows  of  her : 

O,  for  as  many  kisses  as  I  chose  of  her  I 

Since  1  had  one  there's  no  sweet  air  but  blows  of  hur : 

There's  not  a  stream  but  murmurs  as  it  flows  of  her : 

I  could  exalt  to  heav'n  the  very  clothes  of  her. 

I  wonder  how  a  man  can  speak  in  prose  of  her : 

Yet  some  have  e'en  said  ill  (while  my  blood  froze)  of  her  : 

Never  again  shall  any  be  that  crows  offer 

To  do  her  harm,  or  with  his  quid  firo  guos  liuff  her. 

With  pleasure  I  could  evei-y  earthly  woe  suffer 

Rather  than  see  the  charmer's  little  toe  suffer : 

'  Tis  only  gouty  Muses  tliat  should  so  suffer. 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  89 


No.  IX. 
EATING  AND  DRINKING. 

Quae  virtus  et  quanta  boni  sit  vivere  parvo, 
(Nee  meus  hie  sermo,  sed  qua  praecepit  Ofellus, 
Rusticus  abnormis  sapiens,  crassaque  Minerva) 
Discite,  non  inter  lances  mensaque  nitentes 
Cum  stupet  insanis  acies  fulgoribus,  et  cum 
Aulinis  fa'sis  animus  meliora  recusat: 
Vecura  hie  impransi  mecum  disquirite.  —  Horace. 

What,  and  how  great,  the  virtue  and  the  art 

To  live  on  little  with  a  cheerful  heart  I 

(A  doctrine  sage,  but  truly  none  of  mine) 

Let's  talk,  my  friends,  but  talk  before  we  dine ; 

Not  when  a  gilt  buffet's  reflected  pride 

Turns  you  from  sound  philosophy  aside  ; 

Not  when  from  plate  to  plate  your  eyeballs  roil, 

And  the  brain  dances  to  the  mantling  bowl.  —  Pope. 

SO  sang  a  Roman  poet,  who  describes  himself  as 
having  grown  as  fat  as  a  pig  ;  and  so  sang  after 
him  an  English  one,  who  is  said  to  have  died  of  eat- 
ing stewed  lampreys.  They  were  judicious  in  sing- 
ing before  diimer.  What  is  the  use,  it  may  be  asked, 
of  repeating  maxims  so  often  contradicted,  and  by  the 
very  persons  that  broach  them?  To  which  it  may 
be  arl.swercd.  What  is  the  use  of  any  maxims  at  all? 
Why  do  the  world  go  to  school?  Why  do  they  teach 
their  children  ?  Why  do  they  pique  themselves  on  their 
experience?  Is  all  this  useless?  The  members  of  a 
community  that  values  itself  on  its  good  conduct,  will 
hardly  answer  no  :  nor  must  they  answer  no  on  the 
present  occasion.     Poets  of  the  middle  order,  perhaps 


90  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

of  the  greatest,  are  fLimoiis  for  the  warfare  they  under- 
go between  their  sensibilities  and  their  knowledge. 
The  stretchers  "■  of  the  ray  to  ages  yet  unborn  "  play 
tricks  among  their  beams  of  light,  that  often  scorch 
their  fingers.  But  the  ray  is  stretched ;  philosophy 
is  never  so  well  recommended  to  the  world  as  by  the 
radiance  they  throw  upon  it.  Generally  speaking, 
the  book,  rather  than  the  author,  is  in  the  reader's 
mind  ;  and  where  this  is  not  the  case,  and  the  danger 
of  example  is  apprehended,  perhaps  the  danger  is 
more  than  compensated  b}-  deduction  in  favor  of  char- 
ity. Besides,  those  who  do  contradict  their  theories, 
would  contradict  them  more,  and  in  worse  taste  if  they 
were  ignorant  of  what  is  good,  or  in  bitter  despair  of 
attaining  it.  Horace  had  fits  of  temperance  as  well 
as  luxury.  lie  has  said  such  pretty  things  of  crusts 
and  salads,  that  one  longs  to  have  eaten  them  with 
him,  and  laughed  at  the  fume  of  great  dinners. 
Pope  was  a  little  domestic  fowl,  brought  up  tenderly, 
and  accustomed  to  be  picking.  He  could  not  take 
stout  exercise  :  his  frame  would  not  allow  it.  "  Then 
he  ought  to  have  eaten  little  in  proportion."  True  ; 
but  something  is  to  be  allowed  to  the  perpetual  wear 
and  tear  occasioned  by  the  exercise  of  the  mind,  and 
something  to  the  irritability  of  that  very  delicacv  of 
constitution  which  rendered  indulgence  perilous.  The 
moth  flies  to  the  candle  ;  robuster  insects  avoid  it. 
Let  us  thank  the  butterfly  race,  notwithstanding,  for 
reminding  us  of  Nature  and  the  flowers.  What  num- 
bers of  men,  of  similar  constitutions  with  Pope,  have 
died  of  surfeits,  and  done  nothing!  How  much  more 
gracefully  might  they  have  lived,   how  oftener  have 


THE    WISHIXG-CAP.  9 1 

varied  their  pleasures,  with  temperance,  and  after  all 
survived  to  a  pretty  good  age,  considering  their  creak- 
ing bodies  (for  he  lived  to  be  fifty-six),  had  they  pos- 
sessed his  good  sense  and  his  elegance  of  desire  ! 

I  like  to  beo-in  a  lecture  with  a  good  charitable  ex- 
ordium.  In  the  first  place,  I  have  need  of  it  myself; 
and  secondly,  I  have  observed  that  advice  always  does 
more  harm  than  good,  if  it  does  not  see  fair  play.  I 
must  obsei-ve  again,  then,  in  behalf  of  the  superfluous 
diner,  particularly  if  he  is  studious  and  sedentary,  that 
there  may  be  reasons  for  his  roasting  of  eggs  beyond 
what  a  commonplace  moralist  may  discern.  Study 
exhausts  the  body.  Mental  excitement  demands  with 
a  loud,  I  do  not  say  always  with  a  lawful  voice,  the 
help  of  physical  nourishment.  A  poet  shall  come  to 
table  from  a  morning's  occupation,  his  nerves  shat- 
tered, his  blood  thick  and  melancholy  from  over-driv- 
ing, his  whole  soul  agitated  and  confused  in  his  body, 
in  which  it  has  been  at  supernatural  work.  I  will 
concede,  that  in  this  very  work  he  has  been  sowing 
seeds  of  philosophy,  and  writing  couplets  on  temper- 
ance. Let  the  future  ages  who  are  to  benefit  from  his 
inspiration,  look  back  with  an  eye  of  tenderness  rather 
than  scorn  on  tiie  iiavoc  he  proceeded  to  make  among 
his  dishes.  Perhaps  he  will  fast  to-morrow.  At  least 
they  will  have  the  benefit  of  his  remorse.  Inspira- 
tion, which  is  nothing  but  a  concentration  of  the  fac- 
idtics  upon  the  exercise  of  soinc  natural  talent,  is  a 
mighty  exhauster  of  the  stomach,  a  producer  of  mor- 
bid appetites  and  craving  desires  for  refreshment. 
The  nerves,  trembling  from  the  glowing  task,  demand 
to  be  set  right   again  ;  the  blood,  hot  and  dragging 


92  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

with  fatigue,  calls  for  an  airy  lift.  He  had  better  go 
out  into  the  air,  and  take  exercise:  —  I  exhort  him 
to  do  so:  —  Milton  did  so: — the  greatest  of  his 
brethren  have  been  surely  temperate :  —  he  will  re- 
pent bitterly  if  lie  does  not.  No :  the  meat  and 
drink  come  in,  and  the  deed  is  done.  Let  us  take 
the  advice  he  has  left  us,  and  pity  him  for  the  danger- 
ous warmth  he  took  in  writing  it. 

It  is  the  same,  in  proportion,  with  pleasure  and  mel- 
ancholy of  all  sorts,  with  any  kind  of  over-fatigue.  Fif- 
tv  things  may  excuse  us  in  the  eye  of  charity  :  climate, 
anxiety,  troublesome  tasks,  past  or  to  come,  bodily 
or  mental  exhaustion,  from  whatever  cause ;  nay,  the 
cheerfulness  of  our  return  to  one's  friends  or  family. 
But  melancholy,  above  all,  claims  a  particular  tender- 
ness. It  is  a  hard  thing  when  a  man  has  been  in 
trouble  all  the  morning,  and  sees  nothing  but  trouble, 
perhaps,  before  him  in  the  afternoon,  to  deny  iiim  the 
pleasure  of  tickling  his  palate  a  little.  The  loss  of  a 
very  little  satisfaction  is  sometimes  a  great  loss  in  this 
world  ;  the  difficulty  of  foregoing  it  is  in  proportion. 
Let  the  abstaining  from  a  particular  dish,  or  the  get- 
ting up  from  dinner  without  a  full  stomach,  be  re- 
spected accordingly.  I  confess  I  had  more  difficulty 
in  leaving  off  butter  and  cheese  (which  happen  to  dis- 
agree with  my  temperament)  tlian  in  volunteering 
some  actions,  which  the  world  would  have  thought 
less  easy.  The  satisfaction  of  having  one's  way,  or 
of  doing  what  we  can  to  have  it,  and  venting  one's 
feelings  on  account  of  what  we  think  just  and  honor- 
able, is  a  mighty  and  a  reasonable  help  to  one's  vir- 
tue.    The   pinch   comes  when  our   virtue  is  at  war 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  93 

with  our  tendencies  ;  when  we  hold  to  it  through  pain 
and  anxiety,  and  when  we  doubt  vvhetlier  we  shall  be 
as  well  or  ill  thought  of  for  acting  up  to  our  con- 
sciences. 

Again  and  again,  therefore,  I  say,  let  justice  be 
done  to  self-denial  in  matters  of  beef  and  port,  and 
above  all,  I  say,  let  those  consider  also  the  necessity 
of  the  self-denial,  who  would  fain  lighten  the  gather- 
ing shadows  of  age  or  middle  life,  and  retain  as 
much  health  and  good  temper  as  they  can  for  them- 
selves and  others.  They  have  no  alternative  be- 
tween a  great  deal  of  it  and  exercise.  The  more 
they  exercise,  the  more  they  may  indulge ;  for  there 
is  a  business  in  all  things  ;  and  citizens  must  earn 
their  dinners,  as  well  as  the  money  to  purchase  them, 
if  they  would  not  have  those  other  creditors  come  upon 
them,  spleen  and  gout.  I  do  not  say  that  they  require 
nothing  to  give  them  a  fillip.  Qiiitc  the  contrary. 
I  only  say  that  sedentary  eating  and  drinking  is  not  the 
best ;  that  the  good  etfects  of  it  are  not  lasting,  and 
the  bad  ones  very  much  so  ;  and  that  however  diffi- 
cult it  may  be  for  a  pleasant  fellow  to  deny  himself 
"  t'otiier  plateful  "  as  well  as  "  t'other  glass,"  deny  it 
he  must,  or  his  comfort  some  day  will  be  grievously 
denied  to  him.  He  may  rub  his  hands  at  the  sight 
of  his  dishes,  he  may  crow  over  his  wine,  he  may 
throw  sayings  (as  he  willingly  would  the  plates)  at 
the  heads  of  the  moral  and  the  musty  ;  but  as  surely 
as  he  sits  there,  gay  and  contemptuous,  so  surely  will 
he  find  the  "  black  ox's  foot"  come  upon  his  toes  under 
the  table,  not  to  be  lightened,  to  any  real  purpose, 
by  all  the  effects  of  champagne.     Age  is  always  sup- 


94  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

posed  to  bring  melancholy  along  with  it.  I  do  not 
believe  it.  I  believe  that  many  a  temperate  old  man, 
who  has  nevertheless  indulged  a  reasonable  appetite, 
is  as  cheerful  as  the  majority  of  young  ones.  But  age 
will  have  shadows  with  a  vengeance  if  it  has  been 
intemperate  ;  and  middle  life  will  be  plunged  in  them 
before  its  time.  Purple  faces  and  a  jovial  corpulence 
may  impose  upon  the  spectator ;  but  the  sick  gentle- 
man within  knows  what  his  tenement  consists  of. 
A  fool  may  indeed  go  to  his  grave  pretty  comfortably  ; 
a  mere  animal,  a  human  prize  ox,  may  swell  and 
abuse  his  system  for  a  long  time,  because  he  has  no 
intellect  to  be  hurt  by  it,  and  to  hurt  him  in  turn  ; 
but  good  sense  in  the  head,  and  a  perpetual  contra- 
diction of  it  in  the  stomach,  will  never  do  in  the  long 
run.  The  head  ought  to  rule  ;  the  stomach  will  re- 
venge its  bad  government  by  sending  up  its  angry 
ambassadors  of  megrims  and  vapors  ;  and  the  anx- 
iety and  irritability  of  the  ruler  will  in  time  revenge 
itself  on  the  stomach. 

Are  we  not  then  to  obey  the  impulses  and  benevo- 
lences of  Nature?  Have  we  palates  and  appetites  for 
nothing?  Are  we  to  turn  hermits  and  starvelings, 
and  not  enjoy  ourselves .'' 

By  no  iTieans.  There  is  the  simple,  and  eternal, 
and  benevolent  law  of  Nature :  "  Earn,  and  you 
may  enjoy."  Experience  adds,  Enjoy  truly,  and  you 
will  know  what  it  is  to  enjoy  with  reason.  And 
Nature  adds.  Enjoy  with  reason  in  general ;  and  oc- 
casio7ially  I  will  smile  and  shut  my  eyes  when 
friends  and  festivity  call  upon  you  for  an  amiable  de- 
lirium.    Would  you  enable  yourself  to  eat  heartily, 


THE    WISHIXG-CAP.  95 

yet  without  oppression?  Secure  a  good  digestion 
with  exercise.  Would  you  enable  yourself  to  take 
a  reasonable  portion  of  wine?  Spin  your  blood  first 
with  exercise,  that  it  may  not  be  roused  too  abruptly, 
and  fevered.  Would  you  be  free  from  melancholy,  a 
strongr  and  cheerful  man,  an  old  man  free  from  the 
clouds  and  peevishness  of  old  age?  Wash,  exercise, 
and  be  temperate,  that  you  may  throw  oft'  ill  humors 
at  the  pores,  and  not  have  your  soul  incrusted  with 
sordidness  of  the  body.  As  much,  perhaps,  ought  to 
be  said  about  washing  as  about  exercise.  It  is  a 
duty  not  sufficiently  attended  to  in  our  chill  climate. 
There  is  a  story  of  a  Scotchwoman,  who  attempted  to 
drown  herself  in  a  fit  of  melancholy.  She  was  taken 
out  of  the  water  in  a  doubtful  state,  and  underwent 
an  active  rubbing,  according  to  the  process  of  the 
Humane  Society.  She  not  only  returned  to  life,  but 
recovered  her  health  and  spirits ;  the  physicians  pro- 
nouncing, that  twenty  to  one  her  melancholy  was 
entirely  owing  to  her  dirt.  There  is  the  same  reac- 
tion in  this  respect  as  in  the  other.  Melancholy  peo- 
ple are  apt  to  grow  careless  of  their  persons  ;  people 
who  are  careless  of  tiieir  persons  grow  melancholy. 
But  cleanliness  is  the  first  of  virtues  ;  not  the  first  in 
rank,  but  the  first  in  necessity.*  The  most  selfish 
people  can  practise   it  for  their  own  sakes  ;  the  rest 

•  "  aeanliness,"  observes  Charles  Lamb,  in  that  little  neglected  essayling,  en- 
tilled  Saturday  Night,  "says  some  ssgc  man,  is  next  to  Godliness.  It  may  be: 
but  hnw  it  came  to  sit  so  very  near,  is  the  marvel.  Mcthinks  some  of  the  more 
human  virtues  might  have  put  in  for  a  place  before  it.  Justice  —  Humanity  — 
Temperance  —  arc  positive  qualities  ;  the  courtesies,  and  little  civil  offices  of  life, 
had  I  been  Master  of  the  Ceremonies  to  that  Court,  should  hive  sate  abore  the 
■lit  in  tnefrrtnoe  to  »  mere  najptifln"  —En. 


96  THE    WISIIING-CAP    PAPERS. 

ought  to  practise  it  for  themselves  and  others.  With 
regard  to  exercise,  judge  between  the  two  following 
extremes :  A  fox-hunter  can  get  drunk  every  night 
in  the  year,  and  yet  live  to  an  old  age  ;  but  then  he  is 
all  exercise,  and  no  thought.  A  sedentary  scholar  shall 
not  be  able  to  get  drunk  once  in  a  year  with  impuni- 
ty ;  but  then  he  is  all  thought,  and  no  exercise.  Now 
the  great  object  is  neither  to  get  drunk,  nor  to  be  all 
exercise,  nor  to  be  all  thought ;  but  to  enjoy  all  our 
pleasures  with  a  sprightly  reason.  The  four  ordinary 
secrets  of  health  are,  early  rising,  exercise,  personal 
cleanliness,  and  the  rising  from  table  with  a  stomach 
unoppressed.  There  may  be  sorrows  in  spite  of 
these  ;  but  they  will  be  less  with  them  ;  and  nobody 
can  be  truly  comfortable  without. 

There  is  a  great  rascal  going  about  town  (a  traveller 
to  boot  in  foreign  countries,  particularly  in  the  East 
and  in  the  South)  who  does  a  world  of  mischief, 
under  the  guise  of  helping  you  to  a  digestion.  I  am 
loath  to  mention  him.  His  very  name  is  beneath 
the  dignity  and  grace  of  my  Platonic  philosophy. 
But  I  must.  He  talks  much  about  the  liver.  Some- 
times he  calls  himself  the  Blue  Pill,  sometimes  one 
thing,  sometimes  another.  He  is  particularly  fond 
of  being  denominated  "  the  most  innocent  thing  in  the 
world."  Let  the  sufl'erer  beware  of  him.  He  may 
turn  his  company  to  advantage  a  few  times,  provided, 
and  only  provided^  he  does  not  anticipate  his  ac- 
quaintance, or  let  him  divert  him  from  his  better  rem- 
edies. Wherever  he  threatens  to  become  a  habit, 
let  the  patient  take  to  his  heels.  Nothing  but  exer- 
cise can  save  him.     He  is  only  surfeit  in  disguise;  a 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  ^7 

perpetLial  tempter  to  repletion,  under  the  guise  of 
preventing  the  consequences.  The  excess  is  tempted, 
and  the  consequences  are  not  prevented  ;  for,  at  the 
least,  one  ill  is  .planted  in  the  constitution  instead  of 
another.  Disguise  the  scoundrel  as  we  may,  he  is 
only,  in  a  small  shape,  what  an  emetic  was  to  Vitel- 
lius,  or  a  bath  of  mud  to  the  drunken  barbarian.* 
Sometimes,  with  an  unblushing  foresight  and  inten- 
tion, he  is  even  taken  before  dinner  !  Imagination 
escapes  from  the  thought  of  an  abuse  so  gross.  I  dart, 
upon  the  wings  of  my  Wishing-Cap,  out  doors,  and 
hail,  as  I  go,  those  light  bodies  and  animating  looks, 
which  are  the  hapj^y  results  of  Exercise. 


No.  X. 

THE  VALLEY  OF   LADIES. 

Po!ch4  noi  fummo  qui,  i  io  desidcrato  dt  mcnarvi  in  pnrte  assai  vicina  di 
questo  luoso,  dove  is  non  credo  che  moi  alcuna  fosse  di  voi ;  e  chiamavisi  la 
V^lc  dcilc  Donne.  — Decamekon. 

Since  we  have  been  here,  I  have  longed  to  take  you  into  a  spot  close  by,  where 
none  of  you,  I  think,  have  ever  been.     It  is  called  the  Valley  of  Ladies. 

AS  the  spring  advanced  here  in  Tuscany,  and  the 
leaves  all  came  out,  and  the  vines  rose  like 
magic,  and  day  after  day  the  green  below  was  con- 
trasted with  a  blue  southern  sky  overhead,  I  began, 
modestly  speaking,  to  be  reconciled  to  the  beauties  of 
Italy.     I  was  wrong  when  I  said  there  were  no  trees 

•  One  of  the  0'Nca!cs  used  to  inflame  himself  with  drinking,  and  then  stand 
up  to  the  neck  in  a  bath  of  mud  to  cool. 


9S  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

in  this  neighborhood  except  olives.  \Vc  have  a  few 
pophars,  oaks,  and  young  chestnuts,  &c.,  which  make 
an  agreeable  variety.  They  incrust  the  lanes  with  a 
decent  quantity  of  hedge  and  bovver.  But  the  vines 
tnakc  an  astonishing  difference.  In  the  winter  ^ou 
see  nothing  of  thousands  of  them  ;  in  the  spring  out 
they  come,  from  a  bit  of  a  trunk,  like  so  much  fairy- 
work,  and  grow  with  a  marvellous  rapidity.  In  a 
few  weeks  they  are  up  round  their  standards,  and 
climbing  their  trees ;  doubling,  as  it  were,  at  one 
blow,  the  whole  prospect  of  green.  Add  to  this  the 
noble  growth  of  the  corn,  and  the  exuberance  of 
everything  wild  about  the  hedges,  and  spring  is  ten- 
fold spring  here  to  what  it  is  in  the  north.  The 'con- 
trast is  more  striking,  because  there  is  no  green  in 
winter  except  dark  firs  and  cypresses  and  the  hazy- 
looking  olive.  The  beautiful  grass,  which  remains 
all  the  year  round  in  England,  gives  a  sort  of  perpet- 
ual summer  to  the  earth,  whatever  may  be  the  case 
with  the  sky ;  but  the  sky  in  Italy  during  winter, 
though  it  has  glorious  intervals  of  blue  and  warnith, 
is  inclement  enough  to  make  the  inhabitants  chatter 
with  cold,  and  there  is  no  verdure  on  the  ground.  All 
this  being  the  case,  the  very  green  of  the  vines  had  in 
it  something  of  England  ;  and  as  the  ground  is  no 
sooner  dry  here  than  it  is  very  dry,  I  put  vigor  in  my 
steps,  and  my  Orlando  Innamorato  in  my  pocket,  and 
did  my  best  to  fancy  myself  at  once  abroad  and  at 
home  in  the  sunny-bowered  Valley  of  Ladies. 

The  Valley  of  Ladies  is  a  spot  celebrated  in  the 
sixth  and  seventh  books  of  the  Decameron.  It  lies  at 
the  foot  of  one  of  the  Fiesolan  hills,  about  two  miles 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  99 

from  Florence,  commencing  at  the  path  leading  up  to 
Maiano,  and  terminating  under  the  Convent  of  the 
Doccia.  Doccia  signifies  a  water-spout,  a  name  with 
which  the  convent  was  christened  by  a  Httle  stream, 
the.  Affrico,  which  leaps  out  beneath  it  and  waters  the 
valley.  This  stream,  and  another  called  the  Mensola, 
which  runs  through  a  neighboring  valley,  are  the 
metamorphosed  hero  and  heroine  of  a  poem  of  Boc- 
caccio's, called  the  Nimphale  of  the  Fiesole.  Upon 
the  ]Mensola,  about  half  a  mile  from  the  Valley  of 
Ladies,  is  the  Villa  Gherardi,  in  which  Boccaccio  laid 
the  scene  of  his  four  first  days  ;  and  upon  the  Mu- 
gnone,  about  a  mile  on  the  other  side  of  the  valley,  is 
the  Villa  Falmieri,  to  which  his  company  retired  for 
the  remainder  of  their  time,  on  account  of  the  influ- 
ence of  neighbors.  Not  far  from  the  villa  a  house  is 
shown,  which  is  said  to  have  belonged  to  Dante. 
Milton  and  Galileo  give  a  glory  to  Fiesole  beyond 
even  its  starry  antiquity  ;  nor,  perhaps,  is  there  a 
name  eminent  in  the  best  annals  of  Florence  to  which 
some  connections  cannot  be  traced  with  this  favorite 
spot.  When  it  was  full  of  wood  it  must  have  been 
eminently  bcautifuL  It  is  at  present,  indeed,  full  of 
vines  and  olives,  but  this  is  not  wood  -woody ^  not  arbo- 
raceous, and  properly  sylvan.  A  few  poplars  and  for- 
est trees  mark  out  the  course  of  the  AflVico,  and  the 
convent  ground  contrived  to  retain  a  good  slice  of 
evergreens,  which  make  a  handsome  contrast  on  the 
hillTjide  with  its  white  cloister.  But  agriculture,  quar- 
ries, and  wood  llres  have  destroyed  the  rest.  Never- 
theless, I  ndw  found  the  whole  valley  beautiful.  It  is 
sprinkled  with   white    cottages  ;    the  cornfields    pre- 


lOO  THE    WISHING-CAP   PAPERS. 

sented  agreeable  paths,  leading  among  vines  and  fig 
trees  ;  and  I  discovered  even  a  meadow,  —  a  positive 
English  meadow, — with  the  hay  cut,  and  adorned 
with  English  trees.  In  a  grassy  lane,  betwixt  the 
corn,  sat  a  fair  rustic,  receiving  the  homage  of  three 
young  fellows  of  her  acquaintance.  In  the  time  of 
Boccaccio,  the  AflVico  formed  a  little  crystal  lake,  in 
which  (the  said  lake  behaving  itself,  and  being  prop- 
erly sequestered),  the  ladies  of  his  com^oany,  one  day, 
bathe  themselves.  The  gentlemen,  being  informed 
of  it,  follow  their  example  in  the  afternoon ;  and, 
next  day,  the  whole  party  dine  there,  take  their  siesta 
under  the  trees,  and  recount  their  novels.  This  lake 
has  now  disappeared  before  the  husbandman,  as  if  it 
were  a  fairy  thing,  of  which  a  money-getting  age  was 
unworthy.  Part  of  the  Aflrico  is  also  closed  up  from 
the  passenger  by  private  grounds,  but  the  rest  of  it 
runs  as  clearly  as  it  did  ;  and  under  the  convent  a 
remnant  of  the  woodier  part  of  the  valley  —  a  deli- 
cious remnant  —  is  still  existing.  The  stream  jumps 
into  it  as  if  with  delight,  and  goes  slipping  down 
little  banks.  It  is  embowered  with  olives  and  young 
chestnut  trees,  and  looks  up  to  the  long  white  cloister, 
which  is  a  conspicuous  object  over  the  country. 

A  white  convent,  a  woody  valley,  chestnut  trees 
intensely  green,  a  sky  intensely  blue,  a  stream  which 
it  is  a  pleasure  to  stop  and  drink,  —  behold  a  subject 
fit  for  a  day  in  August !  And  besides  these,  there  are 
stories  recounted  and  ladies  bathing.  , 

If  the  reader  objects  to  the  probability  of  this  last 
circumstance  in  a  civilized  country  and  so  near  town, 
he  must  remember  that  the  placo  in  Boccaccio's  time 


THE     WISHING-CAP.  lOI 

was  really  sequestered  ;  that  the  convent  did  not  exist 
then  (though,  of  course,  monks  could  have  been  no 
objection),  and  that  Florence  has  always  been  a 
walled  city,  from  which  you  emerge  directly  into  the 
country.  The  lake  was  so  little  frequented  (as,  indeed, 
most  beautiful  places  are  apt  to  be),  that  Boccaccio 
represents  the  male  part  of  his  company  as  unac- 
quainted with  it  till  enlightened  by  the  more  inquir- 
ing spirit  of  the  ladies.  In  short,  the  manners  of  one 
time  or  place  argue  nothing  for  the  manners  of  an- 
other. I  know  a  lady  who  has  frequently  bathed 
among  the  rocks  of  a  West  India  island,  as  Virginia 
does  in  the  novel ;  and  if  Thoanson  does  not  appear 
to  have  hit  very  nicely  the  manners  of  Englishwomen 
in  his  episode  of  Damon  and  Musidora,  he  probably 
copied  after  Nature  as  far  north  as  his  own  country. 
The  two  damsels  in  the  Gentle  Shepherd  bathe  in  a 
pool,  in  one  of  those  pretty  landscapes  with  which 
that  beautiful  pastoral  abounds.  Sir  Philip  Sydney's 
heroines,  in  the  Arcadia,  do  the  same.  It  is  true 
they  were  princesses,  and  nobody  could  enter  the 
place  on  pain  of  death  ;  but  an  intruder  was  in  it 
nevertheless.  I  confess,  to  my  taste,  the  banks  ought 
to  be  very  rugged  and  woody,  and  the  bather  be  able 
to  slip  into  the  water  like  a  fish  ;  in  consideration  of 
which  I  might  allow  an  agreeable  trepidation,  and 
much  interesting  mixture  of  modesty  and  vivacity. 
But  Musidora  playing  the  Venus  de'  Medici  in  that 
open,  and  at  the  same  time  reflecting  manner,  is  what 
I  cannot  tolerate,  though  she  begins  her  answer  to 
her  lover's  placard   in   a   pretty  taste. 

This,  then,  is  the  "  Vallc  delle  Donne."     If  Boc- 


I02  THE    VVISHING-CAP    PAPERS.  - 

caccio's  spirit  ever  visits  his  native  country,  here  must 
it  repose.  It  is  a  place  for  a  knight  in  romance  to 
take  his  rest  in,  his  head  on  his  elbow,  and  the  sound 
of  the  water  in  his  ear.  Why  do  I  say,  "  if  Boccac- 
cio's spirit  ever  visits"?  I  have  seen  him  there,  such 
as  he  looked  when  he  meditated  the  story  of  the  Fal- 
con. The  knight  in  romance  also, — I  have  seen 
him.  He  was  in  dark  armor,  with  a  red  cross  on 
his  shield.  He  had  taken  his  helmet  and  gauntlet 
off  to  feel  the  air,  and  lay,  like  Lord  Herbert  of 
Cherbury  in  the  picture,  thinking  placidly  of  achieve- 
■  ment. 

Being  somewhat  of  a  knight-errant  myself,  I  rest 
in  another  part  of  the  shade,  looking  down  upon  him 
of  the  red  cross,  and,  with  the  help  of  my  book, 
conjuring  up  a  thousand  visions. 

How  vivid,  as  you  look  up,  is  the  green  of  these 
young  chestnut  trees  !  How  blue,  indeed,  the  blue 
sky!  How  warm  were  the  paths  I  came  through; 
how  cool  is  the  shade  !  What  a  basking,  a  fertility, 
a  southern  richness,  a  lazy  lending  and  generosity  of 
all  that  is  in  earth  and  air.  A  smiling  slumber  of  Na- 
ture with  her  hands  full,  diffuses  its  influence  all  over 
the  place !  The  very  bees  seem  to  be  at  work,  that 
we  may  lull  ourselves  to  sleep. 

I  whisk  to  England  in  my  Wishing-Cap,  and  fetch 
the  reader  to  enjoy  the  place  with  me. 

How  do  you  like  it?  Is  it  not  a  glen  most  glen- 
icular?  a  confronting  of  two  leafy  banks,  with  a  rivu- 
let between?  Shouldn't  you  like  to  live  in  tlie  house 
over  the  way,  where  the  doves  are  ?  If  you  walk  a 
little  way  to  the  left,  through  the  chestnut  trees,  you 


THE    WISUIXG-CAP. 


103 


see  Florence.  The  convent  up  above  us  on  the  right 
is  the  one  I  spoke  of.  There  is  nobody  in  it  now  but 
a  peasant  for  housekeeper.  Look  at  this  lad  coming 
down  the  path,  with  his  olive  complexion  and  black 
eyes.  He  is  bringing  goats.  I  see  them  emerging 
from  the  trees  ;  huge  creatures,  that  when  they  I'ise 
on  their  hind  legs  to  nibble  the  boughs  almost  look 
formidable.  There  is  Theocritus  for  you.  And  here 
is  Theocritus  or  Longus,  which  you  will ;  for  a  peas- 
ant girl  is  with  him,  one  of  the  pleasantest  counte- 
nances in  the  world,  with  a  forehead  and  eyes  for  a 
poetess,  as  they  all  have.  I  wish  the  fellow  were  as 
neat  as  his  companion,  but  somehow  these  goatherds 
look  of  a  piece  with  their  goats.  They  love  a  ragged 
picturesque. 

You  have  onl}-  to  see  the  eyes  and  foreheads  in 
Tuscany  to  know  that  you  are  among  a  people  capa- 
ble of  great  things.  And  what,  indeed,  has  not  this 
little  region  done  in  the  world  of  art  and  poetry.? 
The  rest  of  the  face  is  genial  and  good-natured,  only 
to  an  English  e\  e  the  features  are  apt  to  be  too  large ; 
and  tiie  higher  you  rise  in  society  the  more  advantage 
we  have  in  our  women.  A  sophisticated  Italian  is  a 
formidable  tiling,  man  or  woman.  All  the  world 
cannot  match  a  room  full  of  young  Englishwomen, 
delicate  and  accomjjjished.  And  you  could  sooner 
persuade  one  of  them  to  take  up  her  abode  in  the 
country,  and  brown  her  fair  face  with  the  sunshine, 
than  seduce  a  ready-made  Tuscan  brunette  to  live  out 
of  the  gates  of  Florence.  Twc;  months  in  the  year, 
May  and  October,  —  very  often  only  one,  —  they  run 
about    the  \  illas  a  little.     All  tlic  rest  of  their  life  is 


I04  THE    WISHING-CAP  PAPERS. 

passed  in  town  ;  and  they  are  never  seen  abroad  but 
in  their  carriages.  They  are  fond  of  flowers.  They 
have  also  the  grace  to  visit  the  Cascine  every  evening. 
The  Cascine  are  meadows  with  trees,  where  the 
Grand  Duke  has  an  aviary  and  dairy,  a  pretty  Utile 
pastoraHzed  edition  of  Kensington  Gardens,  with  the 
Arno  on  one  side  and  mountains  in  the  distance.  But 
their  visitors  only  come  for  a  drive,  and  they  would  not 
come  for  that  if  it  were  not  fashionable.  The  charm 
consists  in  criticising  shaped  bonnets,  and  saying,  "  Ah, 
there's  Tomkins  !  "  —  I  beg  pardon,  —  Gian-Battista,  I 
should  say  ;  but  these  Italian  commonplaces  sound  so 
finely  that  they  impose  on  one's  ear.  The  Tomkinses 
are  a  numerous  race  all  over  the  world, "  from  China  to 
Peru  ;  "  and  they  abound  much  more  among  the  upper 
orders  in  the  south  than  the  lower.  If  I  were  a  bach- 
elor, and  inclined  to  marry  in  Italy,  I  should  like  to 
select  a  peasant  girl,  of  a  reasonable  age,  deepen  the 
depth  of  her  e3cs  with  a  little  more  knowledge,  and  in 
five  years'  time  make  her  my  wife.  The  graces  would 
follow  as  a  matter  of  course.  In  her  style  of  lan- 
guage I  already  defy  anybody  to  discover  the  differ- 
ence, except  that  among  the  ladies  the  perpetual 
recurrence  of  certain  elegancies  of  no  meaning,  and 
phrases  of  polite  deprecation,  looks  more  like  the  art 
of  Letter-writing  made  Easy,  or  the  Academy  of 
Compliments. 

Let  an  Englishman,  if  he  is  wise  and  well  off,  seek 
his  wife  among  those  most  respectable  of  all  the  re- 
spectable families  on  earth,  who,  in  his  own  native 
soil,  spend  a  good  part  of  every  year  in  the  country, 
and  make  everybody  happy  about  them.     I  have  one 


THE    WISIIING-CAP.  I05 

in  my  eye  now,  at  C,  in  Northumberland,  the  head  of 
which  is  a  second  Allworthy.  Even  the  town  resi- 
dence of  this  family  looks  upon  a  noble  garden. 
Never  shall  I  forget  how  affectionately  the  mother 
and  daughter  (the  most  unaffected  people  in  the 
world,  and  yet  they  read  Latin  —  hear  that,  ye  Blues 
and  ye  anti-Blues  !),  —  never  shall  I  forget  how  they 
all  came  about  the  object  of  their  love,  putting  their 
gentle  hands  about  his  neck,  and  asking  him  how 
he  fared  after  his  walk.  There  is  not  a  good  of  his 
fellow-creatures  which  he  does  not  seek,  nor  a  grace  to 
grace  it  which  he  does  not  feel.  I  sometimes  change 
color  when  alone  to  think  what  regard  and  gratitude 
an  author  may  feel  towards  such  men,  and  how  long 
lie  may  struggle  in  vain  to  show  it.  Why  cannot  we 
coin  some  of  the  wealth  of  our  imagination  into  proofs 
tangible,  and  pour  down  our  souls  upon  them  in 
the  princely  shower?  The  less  they  care  for  it,  in  one 
sense,  tlie  more  desire  we  have  to  show  them  how  we 
care  for  it  in  another.  And  yet,  God  knows,  I  grudge 
no  man  his  generosity.  But  "  these  things  are  a 
mystery."  I  look  upon  it  as  a  blessing  in  my  lot  that 
all  the  friends  I  ever  was  connected  with  have  sym- 
pathized with  me  in  preferring  a  country  life.  And 
yet  they  have  liked  tlie  town  too,  and  so  do  I.  Luck- 
ily, very  genuine  country  may  be  found  near  town  for 
those  who  are  not  rich  enough  to  go  to  a  distance. 
Come,  let  us  whisk  ourselves  back  again.  There  is 
nothii>g  like  it.  I  pitch  myself  into  one  of  those  old 
green  lanes  of  which  I  am  so  fond,  and  invite  any 
bachelor  that  pleases  to  come  and  see  me.  I  think  there 
is  a  cottage  in  the  neighborhood  that  will  suit  him. 


I06  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


No.  XI. 
LOVE   AND   THE   COUNTRY. 

Hie  gelidi  fontcs,  hie  mollis  prata,  Lycori, 

Hx  nemus,  hie  ipso  teeum  consiimere  asvo.  — Virgil. 

A  wood,  a  stream,  fair  fields,  and  flowering  hedges  — 
0,  love,  with  thse,  here  could  I  live  lor  ages  I 

IT  is  a  large,  low  cottage,  smoking  among  the  trees, 
with  its  back  to  a  couple  of  green  hills  that  shelter 
it  from  the  north  and  east.  Everything  is  neat : 
Ever3thing  is  quiet.  Listen  to  the  bees !  What 
meadows  go  down  there  to  the  plain  !  What  rich 
trees  are  about  us,  — chns,  oaks,  and  beeches  ;  not  rich 
in  fruit,  but  rich  in  verdure  and  leaves,  and  food  for 
poetry.  By  heavens  !  this  is  better  than  Tuscany. 
The  pleasures  there  are   all   too  tangible  and  sensual, 

—  all  corn,  wine,  and  oil.  Here  man  does  not  live  by 
olives  alone,  but  by  those  useful  trees  also,  which, 
among  a  number  of  other  calumniated  goods,  are  on 
the  face  of  them  useless.  "  I  love,"  exclaimed  some- 
body, on  passing  a  moorland,  "  to  see  some  ground 
left  in  God  Almighty's  hands."  So  say  L  I  love  to 
sec  trees  that  look  as  if  they  were  good  for  nothing 
but  to  walk  under,  and  to  furnish  us  with  a  sentiment. 
I  have  a  particular  regard  for  those  which  the  car- 
pcnttr  rejects  with  disdain.  I  know  they  do-iiot  ex- 
ist for   nothing;   and  I  take  them  for  what  they  are, 

—  memorandums  of  the  abundance  and  poetry  of 
Nature. 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  IO7 

At  the  bottom  of  the  grounds  about  the  cottage, 
there  is  a  hine  by  a  brook-sicle,  which  runs  into  a 
cross-country  road.  But  the  phice,  though  soHtary,  is 
not  desohite.  There  are  some  farms,  and  a  noble 
mansion  not  far  otY,  where  a  hospitable  old  gentleman, 
the  possessor,  has  a  fine  library.  The  lanes  branch 
off"  in  all  cHrections,  some  opening  into  meadows,  oth- 
ers into  cornfields,  most  of  them  between  rich  banks 
of  earth  ornamented  with  natural  hedges.  One  of  my 
favorite  spots  is  a  bit  of  heath,  looking  up  to  a  hill 
full  of  trees,  out  of  which  peeps  a  summer-house. 
Another  is  a  wilderness,  where  tlie  roots  of  the  old 
trees  issue  forth  and  twist  over  the  ground.  But  I 
know  scarcely  one  which  I  prefer  to  certain  meadows 
enriched  witli  elm  trees.  I  lie  there  very  often  in 
my  Wishing-Cap,  when  tlie  hay  has  been  cut,  and 
build  castles  in  the  air,  —  I  should  rather  say,  cottages 
in  the  trees,  —  for  those  whom  I  love. 

Is  not  this  a  pleasant  place  to  come  to  of  an  even- 
ing? "  What  can  man  more  desire?"  when  he  has 
been  studying  all  the  morning,  and  is  determined  to 
make  heavens  of  his  afternoons?  Task  the  most  am- 
bitious old  bachelor,  whether  there  have  not  been 
periods  in  his  life  —  and  the  very  best  of  them  all  — 
when  the  idea  of  such  a  cottage  smoking  among  the 
trees,  a  kettle  on  the  fire,  and  his  arm  round  a  slen- 
der waist,  has  not  found  the  "•  consummation,"  of  all 
otlicrs,  "  most  devoutly  to  be  wished." 

Accordingly,  I  have  provided  a  wife  for  my  reader. 
She  is  not  regularly  handsome  ;  but  she  has  one  of 
those  faces  which  are  justly  accounted  more  beau- 
tiful   than    beauty.     A  person    who    goes    by    says, 


I08  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

"  What  a  lovely  expression  !  "  There  is  intelligence 
in  her  eyes,  and  an  infinite  sweetness  about  her  mouth. 
Whenever  she  turns  her  face  upon  you  in  kindness, 
she  seems  to  thank  and  bless  you,  and  wish  you  all 
happy  things.  Sorrow  might  cut  her  to  pieces,  ere 
she  would  say  a  word  to  distress  you  :  or  if  she  did, 
she  would  repent  it  forever.  But  in  joy,  —  I  advise 
you  to  bring  a  world  of  vivacity  along  with  you, 
for  she  will  give  as  good  as  you  bring.  She  is  fond 
of  books  and  music.  If  you  do  not  have  some  ex- 
quisite casts  and  engravings  to  adorn  your  parlor 
with,  you  will  not  do  her  justice.  When  females  of 
her  own  ranJc  come  to  see  her,  they  long  to  play 
the  rustic  as  she  does.  When  the  peasant  girls  bring 
her  provision,  they  desire  more  than  ever  to  be  la- 
dies. She  meets  them  half  way,  and  will  pin  their 
handkerchiefs  for  them,  if  got  loose.  Between  our- 
selves (for  it  must  not  be  mentioned  to  everybody), 
she  can  make  an  excellent  pudding.  It  was  a  whim 
of  her  grandmother  to  teach  her ;  and  she  insists 
that  her  children  will  be  the  better  for  it,  and  not 
at  the  mercy  of  a  cook ;  for  I  must  own,  that  al- 
though not  yet  married,  she  has  the  face  to  speak 
of  the  family  she  may  have  some  day ;  and  has  even 
been  heard  to  say,  that  she  should  not  like  to  make  a 
very  poor  match,  because  she  hopes  to  have  leisure 
enough  to  be  her  husband's  companion  ;  which,  add- 
ed she,  is  after  all  the  first  business  of  a  wife :  though 
she  blushed  when  she  said  it.  Her  vivacity  and  ad- 
dress serve  to  extricate  her  gentleness  out  of  its  dif- 
ficulties. Her  brother,  who  is  a  collegian,  and  loves 
somewhat  maliciously  to  call  her  "  a  Blue,"  caught 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  I09 

her  one  day,  to  his  great  triumph,  in  the  act  of 
loitering  over  a  dumpHng  she  was  making,  and  read- 
ing a  book.  She  was  forced  to  blow  open  the 
leaves,  her  fingers  being  all  over  flour.  In  vain  she 
protested  that  it  was  an  oflence  extraordinary,  and 
that  the  pudding  should  not  be  the  worse  for  it. 
He  takes  an  unfair  advantage,  and  brings  her  out  to 
us  in  the  garden,  holding  her  by  the  helpless  arms, 
upon  which,  what  does  my  lady,  but  suddenly  slip 
aside,  smear  his  ears  all  over  with  the  flour,  and 
scamper  away !  But  I  shall  never  make  an  end  if  I 
say  more. 

Now,  what  does  any  bachelor  say  to  such  a  cottage 
with  such  a  mistress?  Is  it  not  a  pretty  mixture  of 
the  polite  and  the  rustic?  I  once  heard  a  nobleman 
observe,  that  it  was  natural  to  men  of  rank  to  like 
peasant  girls,  and  for  plebeians  to  like  ladies.  I  am 
not  of  his  opinion.  I  think  that  whenever  men  prefer 
women  of  an  inferior  station  —  (unless  they  do  it  for 
the  sake  of  a  libertine  variety,  or  because  they  have 
undergone  some  particular  disgust)  —  it  is  owing  to 
want  of  address.  The  peasant  renders  them  bolder. 
Their  superior  station  enables  them  to  substitute  airs 
of  condescension  and  familiarity,  for  approaches  which 
they  know  not  iiow  to  manage.  But  nothing  is  so  de- 
lightful in  a  woman,  as  a  mixture  of  habitual  gentility 
with  the  simple  and  healthy  tastes  which  might  adorn 
the  heroines  of  a  genuine  pastoral.  The  Peggy  of 
Allan  Ramsay  is  a  promising  specimen.  If  I  had 
married  out  of  the  Lizard  family  in  the  Guardian  — 
(which,  by  the  way,  is  the  sort  of  family  I  spoke  of  in 
my  last)  —  I   should  have  wislied   Miss   Corneliii   to 


no  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAVERS. 

have  more  of  "  the  Sparkler"  in  her  composition,  or 
the  Sparkler  more  of  Cornelia.  Since  I  saw  them 
last,  they  both  want  mending  a  little.  I  used  to  prefer 
the  Sparkler,  till  she  made  that  unsparkling  observa- 
tion in  No.  31  ;  which,  however,  I  trust  the  self-love 
of  the  old  gentleman  induced  him  to  misrepresent. 
But  Mrs.  Cornelia's  romance,  in  the  same  number, 
would  have  been  more  to  my  taste,  had  she  acknowl- 
edged at  once,  that  she  intended  to  make  somebody 
happy,  instead  of  beating  about  the  bush  in  that 
manner.* 


*  The  old  gentleman  referred  to  above  is  Nestor  Ironside,  the  imaginary 
writer  of  the  Guardian.  The  account  of  the  Lizard  family  is  by  Steele.  This  is 
his  character  of  the  Sparkler:  "Mrs.  Mary,  the  youngest  daughter,  whom 
they  rally  and  call  Mrs.  Ironside,  because  I  have  named  her  the  Sparkler,  is  the 
very  quintessence  of  good  nature  and  gcntrosity  ;  she  is  the  perfect  picture  of  her 
grandfather;  and  ir one  can  imagine  all  good  qualities  which  adorn  human  life 
become  feminine,  ihe  seeds,  nay,  the  blossom  of  them,  are  apparent  in  Mrs. 
Mary. "  Here  is  what  he  says  of  Mrs.,  or,  as  we  should  call  her.  Miss  Cornelia : 
"Mrs.  ConieMa  passes  away  her  time  very  much  in  rea.ling,  and  that  with  so  great 
an  attention  that  it  gives  her  the  air  of  a  student,  and  has  an  i^l  effect  upon  her, 
as  she  is  a  fine  young  woman  ;  the  giddy  part  of  the  sex  will  have  it  she  is  in  Inve  ; 
none  will  allow  that  she  affects  so  much  being  alone,  but  for  want  nf  particular  com- 
pany. I  have  railed  at  romances  before  her,  for  fear  of  her  falling  into  those  deep 
studies:  she  has  fallen  in  with  my  Imir.or  that  way  for  the  time,  but  I  know  not 
how,  my  prohibition  has,  it  seems,  only  excited  her  curiosity ;  and  I  am  afraid  she 
is  better  read  than  I  know  of,  for  she  said  of  a  glass  of  water  in  which  she  was  going 
to  wash  her  hands  after  dinner,  dipping  her  fingers  with  a  pretty  lovely  air,  '  It  is 
cryitalline.'  I  shall  examine  farther,  and  wait  for  clearer  proofs."  Here  is 
also  the  Sparkler's  '"unsparkling  observation,"  made  in  the  course  of  some 
profitable  conversation  upon  happiness:  "Myfavoiite,  the  Sparkler,  with  an 
air  of  innocence  and  modesty,  which  is  peculiar  to  her,  said  that  she  never  ex- 
pected such  a  thing  as  happiness,  and  that  she  thought  the  most  any  one  could 
do  was  to  keep  themselves  from  being  uneasy;  for,  as  Mr.  Ironside  has  often 
told  us,  says  she,  we  should  endeavor  to  be  easy  here,  and  happy  hereafter." 
The  romantic  Cornelia  "was  for  living  in  a  wood  among  choirs  of  birds,  with 
lephyrs,  echoes,  and  rivulets  to  make  up  the  concert.  She  would  not  seem  to 
include  a  husband  in  her  scheme,  but  at  the  same  time  talked  of  cooing  turtles, 
mossy  banks,  and  beds  of  violets,  that  one  might  easily  perceive  she  was  not 
without  thoughts  of  a  companion  in  her  solitudes."  —  Ed. 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  I  I  I 

I  will  conclude  this  paper  witli  two  old  French 
songs,  which  are  much  to  the  purpose.  The  first  of 
them  is  by  Maynard,  an  author  of  a  caustic  turn, 
who  agrees  with  the  nobleman  ijbove  mentioned  in 
preferring  peasants  to  ladies.  The  other  is  from  the 
good-natured  pen  of  Froissart,  tb.c  old  chronicler,  and 
makes  the  lady  partake  of  the  peasant.  If  Froissart 
wrote  manv  such  songs,  his  poems  deserve  to  be  re- 
printed as  well  as  his  Chronicles. 

ADIEU  TO  LADIES, 

HJlinc,  Oii.me,  Aiij;elique, 

Je  ne  siiis  plus  de  vos  nmans  ; 
Loin  dc  moi  I'Jclat  magnifiqiie 

Di  noms  puisis  dans  les  romans. 

Ma  passion,  quoiqu' Amour  fasse, 

Nj  fcra  plus  son  paradis 
Deb  bcaulis  qui  lirent  leur  race 

De  la  chronique  d'Amadis. 

Vive  Barbc,  Alix,  et  Nicole, 

Dont  Ics  simples  nai'vetis 
Nc  furenl  jamais  ^  I'ccole 

Dcs  ruses  ct  dcs  vanitds. 

Une  sautd  fraichc  et  robuste 

Fait  que  toujours  leur  teint  est  net ; 

Et  lor.;quc  Icur  bi;auti  s'ajuste, 
La  campagnc  est  leur  cabinette. 

L:ur  ime  n'cst  pas  inhumaine 

Pour  lir  r  m.'s  vccux  en  longueur  ; 
Jamais  j;  n'ai  p;rdu  I'lialcinc 

En  courant  aprcs  leur  rl^ueur. 

Adieu,  dames,  dont  I'habit  richc 

Sous  un  lux  vaiii  el  trompeur 
N'cst  autre  chose  que  la  niche 

D'une  carcass*  4  faire  pcur. 


112  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

J'en  veux  aux  femmes  de  village, 
Je  n'aime  plus  en  autre  part ; 

La  nature  en  leur  beaux  visages 
Fait  la  figue  aux  secrets  de  I'art 


TRANSLATION. 

Helens,  Clelias,  Orianas, 

I  am  no  longer  of  your  train  ; 

Far  from  me  be  your  sultanas, 
With  their  splendor,  proud  and  vain. 

I  can  love,  and  feel  a  passion  ; 

But  no  more  I  place  my  bliss 
Upon  dames  of  lofty  stations. 

Who  descend  from  Amadis. 

Long  live  Alice,  Barbara,  Molly  I 
Girls  whose  little  simple  hearts 

Never  went  to  school  with  folly 
To  pick  up  your  airs  and  arts. 

Strong  and  fresh  with  heahhy  duties. 
Theirs  the  tint  is,  theirs  the  bloom  ; 

When  the  rouges  adjust  their  beauties, 
Fields  are  all  their  dressing-room. 


They,  good  creatures,  keep  no  man  in 
Vile  suspense,  to  show  their  power  ; 

None  need  lose  their  breath  with  running 
After  them,  from  hour  to  hour. 

Farewell,  ladies,  patch'd  and  painted. 
Who  beneath  your  stately  clothes 

Hide  but  limbs  with  luxury  tainted, 
Bodies  fit  to  scare  the  crows. 

Morning  eyes  and  milkmaid  faces 
Henceforth  rule  an  honest  heart : 

Nature,  in  their  rustic  graces, 
Snaps  her  fingers  at  your  art. 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  II3 


THE  BEAUTY  WHO  WAS  TOLD  TO  BE  PROUD. 

Jeune  Beautd  doit,  dit-on, 

Etre  orgueilleusette  ; 
On  reconnait  ^  ce  toa 

Noble  pucellette. 

Hier  au  hasard  me  levai 

DJs  la  mating  ; 
Au  jardin  me  promenai 

Dessous  la  feuilld. 

Diji  me  couchais  parmi 

La  naissante  herbette, 
Quand  je  vis  mon  doux  ami 

Cueiliai.t  la  fleurette. 

Comment  gronder  un  araant 

De  sa  diligence  ? 
J'dcoiitais  son  compliment 

Avec  complaisance. 

D'un  bouquet  il  me  fit  don, 

Simplctte,  doucette ; 
J'ouUiai  cctte  Ifijon, 

Que  Ton  m'avait  faite. 

Jeune  Beaut(5  doit,  dit-on, 

Etrc  oiguciileusette  ; 
On  reconnait  i  cc  ton 

Noble  pucellette. 


TRANSLATION. 

A  beauty  ought,  they  say. 

To  be  a  little  pioud  ; 
It  is  the  only  way 

To  know  her  from  the  crowd. 

I  rose  at  early  morning, 
Ui  0:1  this  truth  intent, 

And  down  th.-  garden  turning. 
Beneath  thi;  trees  I  went. 

I  laid  me  in  the  bloom, 
Ani'^ng  tlij  fT.issy  bowers, 

And  saw  my  lover  come, 
A-gathcring  of  flower*. 

8 


114  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

How  could  a  lady  look 
On  such  a  work  askance  ? 

His  compliments  I  took, 
I  own,  with  complaisance. 

A  bunch  of  flowers  he  gave  me 
From  his  own  coat-button, 

And,  as  I  hope  to  save  me, 
My  lesson  was  forgotten. 

Good  Lord  I  and  yet  they  say 
A  beauty  should  be  proud  ; 

It  is  the  only  way 
To  Know  her  from  the  crowd. 


MISCELLANEOUS 


ESSAYS  AND  SKETCHES. 


Peace  be  with  the  soul  of  that  charitable  and  courteous  author  who  introduced 
the  ingenious  way  of  miscellaneous  writing.  —  Shaftesbury. 


Essays  and  Sketches. 


PERSONAL    REMINISCENCES    OF    LORDS. 

THE  first  time  we  saw  any  Lords,  we  were  too 
young  to  receive  such  impressions  of  tiiem  as 
should  remain  in  after  life.  The  earliest  man  of  any 
note  we  remember,  was  an  American  projector,  who 
had  a  talent  for  ship-building.  We  were  told  of  the 
extraordinary  things  he  could  do  to  make  ships  sail 
fast  and  well  ;  and  him  wc  have  never  forgotten.  We 
have  his  face  this  minute  before  us. 

The  next  time  we  were  blessed  with  the  sie:ht  of 
Right  Honorable  and  Most  Noble  faces,  was  in  the 
House  of  Lords  itself.  We  liad  just  been  shown  the 
House  of  Commons,  where  the  nonchalant  appear- 
ance of  a  few  members,  with  their  hats  on,  lounging 
upon  the  benches,  struck  us  as  no  very  dignified  sight, 
though  we  thought  them  sharp  looking  men  and 
mightily  unaffected.  From  there  we  were  taken  to 
sec  the  Lords  ;  and  we  state,  with  perfect  candor,  the 
impression  they  made  on  us,  when  we  say  that  they 
looked  Hke  a  parcel  of  linen-drapers.  If  the  Com- 
mons were  free  and  easy,  we  expected  to  find  the 
Noble  Lords  nnhlo  and  lordly  ;   we  thought  we  should 

117 


Il8  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

see  the  dignity  which  we  missed  among  the  otliers. 
Not  an  atom  of  it.  Both  houses,  it  is  true,  were  very 
thinl}'  attended,  and  the  most  dignified  members  of 
both  may  have  been  absent ;  but  we  found  that  a 
number  of  lords  might  be  collected  and  not  look  a 
bit  superior  to  any  other  collection  of  decent  men. 
We  had  absolutely  seen  our  chamberlain  of  London 
a  few  days  before,  who  surpassed  every  man  of  them 
in  dignity  of  appearance.  Nor  had  we  any  prejudice 
against  lords.  On  the  contrary,  our  prejudice  was 
in  their  favor,  and  we  were  greatly  disappointed. 
"What!"  said  we  to  ourselves,  "are  these  lords? 
Why,  they  look  like  men  just  come  from  behind 
counters,  and  those  of  the  least  manly  description." 
It  was  the  fashion  at  that  time  to  wear  light-colored 
small  clothes  and  white  stockings,  and  this  custom 
added  to  the  effeminacy  of  their  appearance.  But 
their  faces !  What  pooi-looking  expression  was 
there !  What  weakness !  What  a  negation  of  all 
purpose  and  energy  !  We  came  away,  quite  morti- 
fied for  our  chivalrous  notion  of  the  peerage, — of 
the  relations  of  the  Bolingbrokes  and  Peterboroughs, 
and  never  heartily  recovered  the  impression  after- 
wards. 

From  time  to  time  we  were  shown  a  lord  in  a 
stage-box  or  on  horseback.  They  were  nothing 
diflerent  from  other  men,  except  that  we  fancied 
a  look  of  higher  self-possession,  —  perhaps  because 
tliey  were  lords.  Doubtless  there  was  often  a  con- 
scious look  which  the  spectator  might  take  for  self- 
possession,  or  assumption,  or  pride,  or  dignity, 
according  to  his  preconceived  notions.     Pope  talked 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  II9 

of  the  ''  nobleman  look,"  but  said  that  Wycherley  had 
it  as  well  as  Bolingbroke,  which  shows  that  it  had 
nothing  to  do  with  rank.*  He  meant  the  look  of 
self-possession,  in  its  most  graceful  aspect.  The  per- 
son the  most  answering  to  the  received  idea  of  a 
nobleman,  whom  we  ever  saw,  was  the  late  Duke  of 
Grafton.  We  remember  him  coming  out  of  the  Uni- 
tarian chapel  in  Essex  Street,  with  his  staid  gloved 
hands,  tall  person,  hook  nose,  and  cocked  hat  sur- 
mounting all,  like  the  father  of  a  generation  of  Sir 
Charles  Grandisons.  Junius  would  have  given  a  dif- 
ferent account  of  his  inner  nobility.  It  was  consci- 
entious in  him,  however,  to  go  to  the  Essex  Street 
Chapel,  and  he  was  a  very  respectable-looking  man, 
—  not  in  the  gig-keeping  sense. 

Lord  Castlercagh,  the  only  time  we  saw  him, — 
which  was  many  years  before  his  death,  —  struck  us 
as  being  something  of  a  dandy.  He  was  in  nankeen 
pantaloons  and  a  green  coat ;  but  he  had  as  fine  a 
face  as  man  could  well  have,  with  little  intellect  in  it. 
If  nobility  could  have  a  patent  face,  —  a  countenance 
appropriated  to  rank,  apart  from  the  look  of  wit  and 
talent, —  it  would  look  like  him.  But  then  he  had 
been  occupied  in  important  work.  No  lord  looks 
good  for  anything  who  is  a  mere  lord,  and  by  far  the 
greatest  number  we  have  seen  were  of  this  class. 
Lord  Eldon,  who  is  a  judge,  and  of  plebeian  origin, 
casts  as  fine  an  eye  upon  you  in  passing  along  the 
streets  some  years  ago,  as  could  be  looked  for  in  a 
"  learned  gentleman  ;  "  and  yet  law  has  made  it  come 

•  Hazlitt  writes  admirably  on  this  »iil>jcct  in   the  paper   On   the   Look  of  .1 
rFcnt'.cni.m,  m  The  Plain  Speaker.  —  En 


I20  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

to  nothing.  Lord  Ellenborough  had  the  glance  of  a 
clever  man,  but  his  face  was  clouded  with  a  look  of 
burly  stubbornness.  The  face  of  the  nobleman  we 
have  always  looked  at  with  the  greatest  interest  is 
Lord  Holland's.  We  felt  thankful  for  his  elegant 
literature,  his  advocacy  of  liberal  opinions,  and  above 
all,  his  never-failing  protests  in  the  House  of  Lords 
when  an  ignorant  or  ungenerous  measure  was  car- 
ried. But  we  have  seen  him  only  at  a  distance.  Let 
his  black  eyes  and  his  shrewd  looks,  however,  say 
what  they  may,  they  say  nothing  in  behalf  of  his 
rank :  for  he  is  a  wit,  and  could  do  without  it. 

We  were  once  going  down  Bedford  Row,  when  we 
saw  a  little  mean-looking  man  ascend  the  steps  of  a 
house,  give  a  good  knock,  and  ask  the  footman  a 
question.  The  footman  answered  with  a  face,  the 
expression  of  which  amounted  to  contempt.  It  was 
as  much  to  say,  "  What  does  such  a  shabby-looking 
fellow  as  you  want  with  my  master,  and  why  do  you 
take  upon  yourself  to  give  such  a  knock?  "  The  little 
man,  turning  to  go  away,  took  out  a  card,  and  gave  it 
the  footman.  The  reader  should  have  seen  the  fel- 
low's manner  at  sight  of  this  card  I  He  saw  "  Lord  " 
upon  it;  and  his  face,  shoulders,  arms,  legs,  and  soul 
fell  instantly  into  a  profound  respect  and  humiliated 
repentance.  We  omit  this  lord's  name,  but  nobody, 
most  assuredly,  would  have  taken  him  for  a  noble- 
man, —  unless,  indeed,  a  footman  might  have  done 
so  ;  for  footmen,  being  conversant  with  lords,  ought 
to  know  of  what  aspects  they  arc  capable. 

Not  long  after  this  we  happened  to  sit  next  a  lord 
in  a  box,  who  swore  much  at  a  debutante  in  a  com- 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  121 

edy,  and  said  she  was  the  "  d — dest  impudent  little 
devil  he  ever  saw  in  his  life."  At  the  same  time  he 
clapped  a  speech  of  hers  with  as  much  energy  as  his 
hands  could  bring  together,  for  he  too  was  a  fragile 
little  fellow.  We  begged  to  know  the  reason  of  this 
apparent  contradiction  ;  and  he  said,  "  O,  I  like  her 
impudence  of  all  things  ;  it's  devilish  amusing." 
This  was  candid,  and  we  had  nothing  to  object.  It 
was  also  professional,  —  of  the  "  order,"  —  for  it  up- 
held claims  without  merit,  and  stood  by  a  sort  of 
"privilege  of  peerage,"  —  the  right  that  impudence 
has  to  be  on  a  par  with  impudence. 

The  next  lord  we  remember  seeing,  whose  patent 
was  put  to  the  test,  was  the  colonel  of  a  body  of  vol- 
unteers, who  were  assembled  in  the  courtyard  of  a 
great  house  in  Piccadilly,  in  expectation  of  seeing 
him  for  the  first  time.  Suddenly  it  was  announced 
that  he  was  coming.  The  great  gates  were  thrown 
open,  the  band  struck  up,  the  regiment  presented 
arms  :  enter  my  lord  on  a  white  charger,  and,  by  way 
of  introduction  to  his  men,  is  pitched  right  over  the 
horse's  head.  Thus  (as  the  moral  of  a  fable  would 
say)  the  being  a  lord  does  not  render  a  man  a  good 
horseman  any  more  than  it  renders  him  modest,  or 
wise,  or  handsome,  or  strong,  or  genteel,  or  even 
such  a  man  as  can  be  safe  in  the  experience  of  a 
footman.  « 

We  were  standing  once  at  a  book  sale  behind  two 
gentlcinen,  one  of  whom,  by  his  voice,  we  recog- 
nized to  be  the  late  Jolin  Kemble.  The  other  was  of 
the  same  stature  as  the  actor,  not  so  gentlemanly 
in  appearance,  and  had  his  hat  set  knowingly  on  the 


122  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

top  of  his  head.  Mr.  Keinblc,  addressing  him  as 
"My  Lord,"  made  us  curious  to  see  his  face.  The 
actor's  face  we  saw  very  well.  It  was  turned  side- 
wise  towards  the  great  unknown,  exhibiting  all  the 
dignity  of  its  Roman  profile  ;  and  the  tone,  higii  in 
dignity  as  in  sound,  in  which  the  actor  spoke,  inter- 
ested us  extremely,  considering  the  rank  of  the  person 
he  was  conversing  with.  Ou  a  sudden  this  person 
turned  rapidly  towards  his  acquaintance,  exhibiting 
his  profile  in  turn,  and  letting  us  into  the  secret  of 
his  voice.  The  effect  was  ludicrous.  The  noble- 
man's person  had  given  us  a  manly  idea  of  him 
enough,  though  there  was  a  dandyism  in  his  bearing 
not  of  the  genteelest  kind  ;  but  his  face !  and  his 
voice  !  The  first  was  like  a  premature  old  woman's, 
the  second  worthy  of  it,  —  at  once  high,  mumbling, 
and  gabbling.  A  little  staring  eye  surmounted  this 
odd  imbecility.  He  rapidly  uttered  a  few  shuffling 
sentences,  forming  a  most  singular  contrast  with  the 
lofty  and  measured  tones  of  the  actor  ;  and  we  thought 
how  much  better  the  latter  would  have  acted  the 
nobleman  oft'  the  stage  than  the  former  upon  it.  How 
ludicrous,  indeed,  the  noble  lord  would  have  appeared 
in  any  serious  character,  on  or  oft'! 

The  next  time  we  fell  in  company  with  a  lord,  he 
was  talking  on  the  subject  of  art,  which  he  did  very 
badly.  We  did  not  know  who  he  was,  nor  was 
he  acquainted  with  all  the  persons  present.  Some- 
body made  a  remark  in  dissent ;  we  expressed  (in  all 
civility)  our  agreement  with  it.  The  stranger,  who 
had  a  very  insipid  countenance,  said  nothing,  but  con- 
trived  to  throw  into   his    face   an  air  of   nonchalant 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  1 23 

assumption,  which  appeared  very  otld.  The  secret 
was  explained  when  we  learnt  who  he  was.  But  are 
these,  we  thought,  the  manners  of  high  life?  Are 
such  the  people  that  think  to  dispense  with  objection, 
and  are  these  the  faces  their  absurdity  begets  them  ? 
Who  would  have  known  this  lord  from  an  arrogant, 
mean  citizen?     His  appearance  is  not  a  jot  better. 

Does  the  reader  remember  a  little,  withered  old 
man,  who  used  to  emerge  on  fine  days  into  his  bal- 
cony in  Piccadilly,  take  a  chair  there, 

"  And  sun  himself  in  Huncamunca's  eyes  "  ? 

His  business,  it  was  said,  was  to  watch  the  ankles  of 
the  ladies  and  the  conscious  giggle  of  the  serving- 
maids.  But  he  mixed  it  with  wiser  matter.  He 
was  taking  a  "  reverend  care  of  his  health."  Stories 
of  milk  baths  were  told  by  the  smiling  passengers, 
of  the  doctor  ever  in  attendance,  and  of  the  good 
done  to  old  gentlemen  by  the  company  of  pleasing 
faces  and  milk-maid  breaths,  without  of  necessity 
involving  anything  erroneous.  This  old  lord  (the 
Duke  of  Qjieensbury)  had  been  a  great  turf-man  in 
his  youtli  ;  wc  know  not  what  he  was  famous  for  in 
more  advanced  life.  In  old  age  he  was  eminent  for 
sitting  in  a  balcony  and  looking  stupid.  Pic  was 
immensely  rich.  lie  probably  could  have  had  eighty 
thousand  beefsteaks  for  his  dinner  every  day.  The 
money  for  these  he  left  at  his  banker's,  while  he  dab- 
bled with  a  little  spoon-meat,  and  his  neighbors  toiled 
all  day  to  get  a  steak  for  their  wives  and  cliildrcii. 

We  leave  this  point  to  the  reader's  rellection.  — 
1830. 


124  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


A   LETTER 

On,  to,   and    By    the    Book-Personage    known 
BY  THE  Name  of  "  The  Reader." 

DEAR  Sir,  or  very  dear  Madam  :  Among  the 
various  phenomena  of  the  literary  world  (to 
begin  in  proper  book  style),  you  have  heard,  doubt- 
less, of  editors  who  write  letters  to  themselves,  and 
are  very  much  their  humble  servants,  "  Qiiidnunc," 
and  "  Philalethes."  In  other  times  the  highest  and 
the  lowest  periodical  writers  were  equally  given  to 
this  species  of  correspondence ;  the  former  in  the 
excess  of  their  wit,  the  latter  because  they  get  nobody 
but  themselves  to  be  their  Constant  Readers.*  Of 
late  years,  such  is  the  exuberance  of  literature,  in  Mr. 
Jerdan's,  as  well  as  the  grammatical  sense  of  the 
word,  that  we  believe  the  custom  survives  with  none 
but  the  very  newest  and  worst  setters-up  of  a  publica- 
tion. These  gentlemen,  here  and  there,  are  still 
auto-epistolary.  One  of  them  is  his  own  "  Impartial 
Observer,"   and  difl'ers  with    himself,  "  though  with 

*  Mr.  Spectator  gleefully  confesses  that  he  is  guilty  of  writing  letters  to  him- 
self. "I  often  choose,"  he  says,  "this  way  of  casting  mythoughts  into  a  letter, 
for  the  following  reasons.  First,  out  of  the  policy  of  those  who  try  their  jest 
upon  another  before  they  own  it  themselves.  Secondly,  because  I  would  extort 
a  little  praise  from  such  who  will  never  applaud  anything  whose  author  is  known 
and  certam.  Thirdly,  because  it  gave  me  an  opportunity  of  introducing  a  great 
variety  of  characters  into  my  works,  which  could  not  have  been  done  had  I 
always  written  in  tlie  person  of  the  Spectator.  Fourthly,  bec.iuse  the  dignity 
spectatorial  would  have  suffered  had  I  published  as  from  myself  those  severe 
ludicrous  compositions  which  I  have  ascribed  to  fictitious  names  and  characters." 
Spectator,  No.  542.  —  Ed. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  1 25 

deference  to  his  superior  judgment."  Another  is 
happy  to  subscribe  to  his  own  opinion,  being,  at  the 
same  time,  a  subscriber  to  his  "  interesting  miscel- 
lany ;  "  and  a  third,  sitting  in  his  editor's  room,  and 
despairing  of  success  with  his  "  widely-circulated 
journal,"  is  his  "  sincere  well-wislier  and  admirer, 
Thomas  Jones,  Appleby."  A  certain  description  of 
gentlemen  '•  about  town"  are  said  to  have  made  great 
use  of  this  epistolary  talent,  and  been  half  the  wo- 
men of  their  acquaintance  ;  and  a  tribe  of  doctors, 
resembling  theiu,  have  been  enabled  to  bear  such 
grateful  testimony  to  their  own  merits  as  to  acquire 
an  extensive  correspondence  of  the  ordinary  kind,  and 
write  themselves  into  an  equipage  and  a  mansion. 

But  you  have  yet  to  learn  that  a  man  may  write  a 
letter  to  himself  and  not  be  awai^e  of  it ;  na}-,  that  all 
his  readers  but  one  may  join  him  in  the  correspon- 
dence, and  all  be  in  the  same  predicament.  You  are 
now  this  minute  doing  it,  so  are  they  ;  and,  what  is 
more,  myself,  who  am  tlie  sole  exception,  are  you 
and  they  too.  I  am  the  editor  and  all  his  readers.  I 
am  a  lady  of  quality  and  a  blacksmith  ;  I  am  a  sol- 
dier, and  at  the  same  time  a  clergyman  ;  a  dandy  and 
a  quaker ;  an  old  lady  and  a  young  one  ;  a  man  of 
yesterday,  and  yet  Martial  addressed  epigrams  to  me  ; 
an  intimate  friend  of  Sophocles,  and  yet  Sir  VV^alter 
is  continually  bespeaking  my  good  opinion.  In  short, 
I  am  the  little,  big,  slender,  robust,  young,  old,  rich, 
plain,  poor,  handsome,  male,  female,  and  neuter  per- 
sonage, known  by  the  name  of  "  The  Reader."  I 
am  you^  Reader,  whatever  you  may  think  of  it,  and 
you  are  all  of  us.     Von  address  your  prefaces  to  me. 


126  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

and  have  others  addressed,  for  the  same  reason,  to 
yourself.  I  am  the  Benevolent  Reader  of  the  old 
books ;  also  the  Courteous,  the  Indulgent,  and  the 
Impartial,  but,  above  all,  the  Discerning.  The  affec- 
tation of  independence  in  modern  writers  has  induced 
them  to  leave  off  addressing  me  by  some  of  these 
epithets,  yet  my  good  v^'^ord  is  still  bespoken  as  the 
Indulgent  and  the  Candid  ;  and  if  I  am  not  always 
styled  the  Discerning,  it  is  not  the  less  given  me  to 
understand  that  I  am  so.  I  should  like  to  see  the 
author  that  ventuied  to  treat  me  otherwise.  It  is 
tiue,  a  hint  is  now  and  then  ventured  about  "com- 
monplace readers,"  and  "  readers  of  the  ordinary 
description:"  but  these  are  mere  words.  I  will  ven- 
ture to  affirm,  that  i^  the  Reader  ever  chose  to  inquire 
whether  it  was  he  that  was  intended  bv  those  petulant 
appellations,  the  writer  would  infallibly  say  no.  The 
Reader  is  always  treated  with  respect.  Tlie  least 
thing  said  to  him,  is,  that  he  is  "■  requested  :  "  —  the 
Reader  is  requested  to  do  so  and  so  ;  to  "  observe," 
or  to  "bear  in  mind."  It  is  also  asked  whether  he 
will  be  "  kind  enough  "  or  "  sfood  enough"  to  do  this 
and  that.  Furthermore,  being  a  man,  he  is  of  ne- 
cessity a  gentleman,  as  surely  as  the  cobbler  before 
the  hustings  ;  and  inasmuch  as  he  is  of  the  female  sex, 
he  is  fair  ;  —  the  fair  Reader  ;  —  "  our  fair  Readers 
will  do  us  the  honor  to  observe,"  &c. 

It  is  in  this  corporate  character  that  I  now  address 
\-ou.  Being  The  Reader^  I  am  everybody  who  reads, 
and  therefore  may  safely  speak  in  the  first  person  ; 
for  nobody  quarrels  with  himself  in  the  person  of  an- 
other, however  willing  he  may  be  to  contemplate  his 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  1 27 

merits  in  liim  ;  at  least,  it  requires  a  rare  stretch  of 
philosophy  to  do  so,  and  the  modesty  is  sure  to  be 
accompanied  by  something  that  consoles  it. 

As  a  reader  of  a  ripe  age,  who  was  deep  in  the 
gilt  nursery  books  of  the  last  century,  it  may  be  al- 
lowed me  to  regret  the  cessation  of  those  quaint  old 
dreams  of  wood-cuts,  now  confinetl  to  ballads  on  the 
walls,  or  only  reprinted  for  the  benefit  of  the  curious. 
I  acknowledge  the  superiority  of  the  present  engrav- 
ings, and  allow  our  new  infant  self,  if  he  has  any  taste 
for  the  fine  arts  (which  is  not  always  the  case),  to 
"quiz"  the  stuck-up  attitudes,  blotted  eyes,  and  im- 
possible legs  and  arms  of  our  old  King  Pepins  and 
worthy  London  apprentices.  But  there  was  some- 
thing remote  and  ideal  in  those  very  deficiencies  in 
the  likeness  to  things  known.  Such  a  London  ap- 
prentice as  that  7)iigJit^  for  aught  you  know,  thrust 
his  arms  down  the  throat  of  two  lions,  conveniently 
gaping  on  each  side  of  him,  and  pluck  out  their  hearts. 
Such  a  little  boy  as  King  Pepin,  all  eye  and  flapped 
waistcoat,  might  come  to  be  a  man  wonderful,  and 
ride  in  his  conch.  We  do  not  defend  the  rewards 
generally  promised  in  the  infant  literature  of  that 
period,  such  as  coaches  and  great  pudilings,  though 
the  private  taste  seems  to  lie  a  good  deal  that  way 
still.  Neither  will  we  stand  by  the  morality  of  Master 
Jemmy  the  bad  boy,  and  Master  Jacky  the  good  one, 
the  former  f)f  whom  is  bound  to  be  eaten  by  lions, 
while  the  latter  becomes  Lord  Mayor  ;  for  it  is  now 
doubted  by  philosophers  in  the  city,  whether  every 
Lord  Mayor  was  a  good  little  boy  ;  and  also,  whether 
every  naughty  boy  goes  to  Africa  or  comes    to    the 


128  THE   \A'ISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

4 

poorhouse.  Such  determinations  of  events  will  nf^f 
be  allowed  in  this  refining  age,  philosophers  them- 
selves being  sometimes  poor,  and  rich  men  not  always 
having  been  good.  We  are  aware  that  the  great  eye 
of  this  generation  looks  rather  to  the  general  good 
than  the  particular  example  of  success,  and  inculcates 
a  handsome  prudence,  which,  allowing  folly  its  ex- 
cesses, saves  it  from  bad  blood,  and  encourages  it  to 
grow  wiser.  We  have  nothing  to  say  against  that; 
but  still  we  may  be  allowed  to  admire  the  picture- 
cuts  of  Master  Jemmy  and  Master  Jacky,  now  so 
happy  at  home,  playing  their  battledoor  and  shuttle- 
cock, and  then  both,  methinks,  so  unhappy  after- 
wards, —  the  one  devoured  by  roaring  lions,  and  the 
other  stuck  up  in  his  fine  coach  without  his  brother. 
To  the  impressive  dead  bodies  of  "  Smith,  Jones,  and 
Robinson,"  in  Mr.  Dilworth's  Spelling-Book  (was  it 
not?  ),  who  would  swim  in  the  water  when  they  were 
told  to  remain  on  dry  land,  and  to  the  awful  admon- 
itory figiu'e  of  the  schoolmaster  in  his  cocked  hat, 
with  one  finger  up,  we  cannot  refuse  our  respect.  It 
is  somewhat  begged  of  us,  we  grant,  by  early  habit, 
and  by  the  sight  of  those  stark-naked,  pale  pieces  of 
stiffness  on  the  ground  ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  warm  and 
well-clothed  teacher.  •'  The  great  teacher,  Death," 
and  the  hardly  inferior  solemnity  of  the  teacher  aca- 
demical, divide  the  awfulness  between  them.  Other- 
wise we  could  have  wished  that  Death  and  a  little 
daring  had  not  been  brought  so  peremptorily  together. 
But  things  may  have  been  good  at  a  former  period 
which   arc   not  desirable  at   present. 

As  "the   reader"    of    the    present  times,    nothing 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  I29 

comes  amiss  to  iis.  We  find  all  ages  and  conditions 
agreeably  lumped  up  together  in  the  food  provided  for 
them.  The  little  children's  books  are  fit  for  grown 
people  to  read  ;  and  the  grown  people  are  obliged  to 
be  universal  in  their  knowledge,  for  fear  of  not  having 
answers  to  give  to  the  little  children.  Pictures  also, 
the  realization  of  the  dreams  of  books,  abound  more 
than  ever. 

Even  our  amiable  old  friend,  the  Elements  of  j\Io- 
rality,  rich  with  its  "  fifty  copper  plates,"  is  nothing 
to  the  "  one  hundred  aiul  lilU  "  in  a  modern  volume 
of  Arabian  Nights  ;  and  then  for  cheapness,  we  have 
the  same  delicious  work  for  five  and  sixpence  ;  all 
Shakespeare  for  ten  shillings,  and  loads  of  acted 
plays  and  farces  at  threepence  the  set,  like  ginger- 
bread. As  to  songs,  we  get  them  at  a  penny  the 
hundred.  I'd  be  a  Butterfly  is  about  the  value  of  a 
wafer  and  a  half,  and  so  is  that  public  piece  of  pri- 
vacy, O,  no,  we  never  mention  Her,  which  piece  of 
reserve,  when  it  first  came  out,  we  heard  two  fellows 
whispering  in  the  ear  of  the  town  along  Regent  Street, 
with  all  the  delicacy  of  a  couple  of  gongs. 

We  are  afraid  there  may  appear  some  confusion  in 
this  letter  between  the  reference  to  our  general  cliai- 
acter  as  "  The  Reader"  and  our  own  particular  book 
inclinations.  But  soirjething  of  this  must  be  pardoned, 
if  it  be  not  of  too  exclusive  a  description.  The  Header^ 
after  all,  is  a  human  being,  and  must  sometimes  be 
content  to  represent  particular  bodies  of  men  ralhtr 
than  the  whole  fortuitous  world  of  perusers.  Above 
all,  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  he  is  a  genuine  Reader; 
—  that  is  to  say,  really  fond  of  books;  and  as  such, 

9 


130  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

there  are  many  feelings  which  he  will  have  in  com- 
mon with  the  whole  genus  of  bookworms.  There  is 
sometimes  a  false  The  Reader^  —  that  is  to  say,  one 
who  is  appealed  to  by  authors  whom  nobody  reads, 
or  who  is  a  mere  chance  taker-up  of  a  book,  in  which 
he  has  no  more  right  to  recognize  himself  under  that 
title  than  a  fly  who  should  walk  over  it.  Mr.  Jacob, 
an  unheard-of  name  in  our  times,  was  a  reader  of  this 
sort  a  hundred  years  ago  ;  and  our  friend  Mr.  Jerdan 
is  one  at  present.  1  shall,  therefore,  proceed  to  con- 
sider myself  in  one  light  as  the  Reader  appealed  to  by 
authors  ;  in  another,  as  the  Reader  fond  of  reading 
them. 

And  here,  my  dear  friends,  I  cannot  but  lament  the 
cessation  of  those  pleasing  epithets  of  Benevolent 
and  Candid,  which  ]  have  before  mentioned,  and 
which  tended  to  keep  up  the  good  qualities  they 
spoke  of.  It  was  easy  to  see  whether  the  author  was 
trying  to  cajole  us,  or  only  pa3ing  the  proper  compli- 
ment to  our  virtue.  If  he  was  a  good  fellow,  it  was 
all  as  it  should  be  ;  if  otherwise,  he  was  only  in  the 
right  with  regard  to  ourselves ;  we,  the  Reader,  were 
still  candid,  and  benevolent,  and  intelligent,  but  we 
smiled  at  his  endeavors  to  deceive  us,  and  called  to 
mind  what  the  philosopher  says  about  hypocrisy, — 
"  the  homage  which  vice  pays  to  virtue."  It  is  true, 
we  dismissed  the  man  a  little  more  charitably  than 
might  liave  been  the  case  had  he  been  less  civil  ;  but 
charity  is  desirable  towards  everybody.* 

*  "Why  is  it  that  we  hear  no  more  of  Gentle  Readers?  "  asksSouthey.  in  The 
Doctor.  "  Is  it  that,  having  become  critical  in  this  age  of  magazines  and  re- 
views, they  have  ceased  to  be  gentle?     But  all   are  not   critical."     With  what 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  I3I 

Lector  benevole  had  a  pretty  sound  in  Latin  ;  so 
had  candide  and  amice.  "  To  the  Reader  "  is  not  so 
well ;  it  is  too  unceremonious,  or,  at  least,  unsocial. 
There  is  neither  respect  nor  cordiality  in  it ;  and, 
somehow,  to  an  Englishman,  the  Italian  a  chi  Icgge 
sounds  worse.  Neither  is  "Advertisement"  alto- 
gether to  be  approved  ;  —  '•  Advertisement  to  the 
Reader ;  "  it  is  too  dry  and  official.  In  French  it 
looks  hardly  decent  —  Avis  aic  lectcur.  I  am  aware 
that  the  same  words  in  ditlerent  languages  havj  dif- 
ferent shades  of  meaning,  but  the  root  is  the  same. 
"  Advice  to  the  Reader  "  is  to  be  found  in  old  Eng- 
lish books.  The  French  phrase  has  even  passed 
into  a  proverb.  It  means  putting  a  man  on  his  guard. 
This,  to  be  sure,  is  a  useful  proceeding  witli  some 
books,  and  would  be  more  so  if  other  people,  instead 
of  tlic  author,  had  the  writing  of  the  advice.  How 
pleasant  it  would  l)c  to  be  able  to  preface  one's  ene- 
my's book  with  such  a  warning:  to  forestall  a  criti- 
cism, or  give  a  notice  "•  Siir  la  vie  ct  Ics  ouvragcs." 
Every  man  his  ozvn  other  mans  prej^ace  woidtl  be 
handsome  dealing. 


sweet  reverence  and  loving  humor  Hawthorne,  in  K\\i  preface  to  The  Marble 
\  aun,  writes  of  that  "friend  of  friends,  tliat  brother  of  the  soul,"  the  Gentle 
Reader.  'The  antique  fashion  of  prefaces  recognized  this  genial  personage," 
he  says,  "as  'the  Kind  Reader,'  the  'Gentle  Reader,'  the  'Beloved,'  the  'In 
dulgcnt, '  or,  at  colde.-.t,  the  'Honored  Reader,'  to  whom  the  prim  old  nulhor 
wai  wont  to  make  his  preliminary  explanations  and  apiilo;4ics,  with  the  certainty 
that  they  would  be  favorably  received.  I  never  personally  encountered,  nor 
corresponded  through  the  post  with  this  representative  essence  of  all  delightful 
and  desirable  qualities  which  a  reader  can  pos.scss.  But,  fortunately  for  myself, 
I  never,  therefore,  concluded  him  to  be  merely  a  mythic  character.  I  had 
always  a  sturdy  faith  in  his  .tctua!  existence,  and  wrote  for  him  year  after  year, 
during  wh^cli  the  ,-:reat  eye  of  the  Public  (as  well  it  might)  almost  utterly  over- 
looked my  imall  proJi  c.io  >«."  —  Ed. 


132  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

During  the  period  when  Latin  was  the  common 
tongue  of  hteraturc,  and  it  i-equired  schohuship  to 
read  as  well  as  write  a  book,  it  is  agreeable  to  sec  the 
importance  which  the  Reader  bore  in  the  mind  of 
everybody  connected  with  the  work,  —  author,  print- 
er, and  publisher.  The  book  was,  perhaps,  dedi- 
cated to  some  lord  or  great  man,  some  J/lustn'ssi/uo^ 
whose  light  has  long  since  disappeared  ;  or  some  Vi'r 
Amplissimus  of  a  Dutchman.  He  was  the  ostensible 
patron.  The  titles  were  set  forth  in  a  grotesque  of 
Dutch  and  Latin,  rich  as  the  effloi-escence  of  his  coat 
of  arms ;  and  perhaps  his  arms  themselves  were 
added,  thirsty  with  leopard's  faces,  and  threatening 
with  daggers.  But  he  was  not  "  The  Reader."  Not 
he.  Perhaps  he  could  not  read  the  work.  Lords  in 
those  times  were  not  the  wits  and  geniuses  they  are 
now.  Some  little  preface  by  itself  was  pretty  sure  to 
be  added  lectori  benevolo^  bespeaking  his  good  opin- 
ion with  a  tlbi  coinmendo^  and  reminding  him  of  it 
with  a  vale  I  We,  ''  The  Reader,"  now  almost  swal- 
lowed up  in  that  more  formidable  noun  of  multitude, 
the  Reading  Public,  were  then  one  of  a  select  portion 
of  society,  like  the  doctors  of  a  university ;  and 
thoug:li  we  acknowledge  ourselves  reasonablv  lost 
among  the  many,  and,  indeed,  assisted  in  bringing 
about  the  great  liglit  that  has  put  out  our  college 
lamps,  we  cannot  but  take  a  pleasure  in  turning  over 
those  evidences  of  our  old  importance,  and  fancying 
ourselves  bowing  like  a  polite  judge  on  the  bench  to 
the  appeals  of  our  learned  brothers  the  Elzevirs  and 
the  Giunti.  This  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  the  link  be- 
tween   the   Bibliomaniacs   and    saner    readers.     Any 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  1 33 

book  was  worth  something  in  those  times ;  and,  by 
the  courtesy  of  scholastic  habits,  it  remains  so  still. 
But  rarity  made  it  a  great  deal  more  so,  and  therefore 
nothing  is  so  precious  to  the  Bibliomaniac  as  the  pos- 
session of  a  rare  copy.  It  diminishes  the -advantages 
of  the  rest  of  the  world  ;  —  gives  him  a  value  in  his 
own  eyes  which  he  could  not  otherwise  possess.  We 
do  not  say  this  invidiously.  Partaking  to  a  certain 
degree  of  the  Bibliomaniac  ourselves,  and  at  the  same 
time  being  liberal-minded  towards  all  tlie  world  in 
our  capacity  of  the  Reader  universal,  w^e  live,  either 
to  vindicate  our  dusty  superiority,  or  allow  our  ab- 
sorption in  the  common  wit,  just  as  the  whim  is  upon 
us  ;  and  as  so  many  books  are  venerable  in  our  eyes, 
every  book,  in  some  measure,  becomes  so  bv  reason 
of  its  book-nature.  BihliopJiilns  S7iin ;  iiiJiil  bihlici 
a  me  alieiiiim  pjito.  Only  let  a  writer  address  us 
handsomely,  and  it  is  hard  if  we  do  not  find  sf)ine- 
thing  to  commend  in  his  work,  even  should  it  be  only 
in  the  address.  We  confess  that  we  love  to  respond 
to  those  deferential  appeals  made  to  our  wisdom  and 
good  qualities.  Nothing  can  be  said  out  loud  between 
author  and  reader  ;  but  the  sympathy  is  not  the  less 
understood.  '•  The  Reader,"  says  the  author,  ''will 
have  the  goodness," — we  have  the  goodness.  "•  The 
Reader  will  undoubtedly  perceive,"  —  undoubtedly 
we  do  perceive.  "  We  need  not  inform  the  intelli- 
gent Reader,"  —  you  certainly  need  not;  but  let  us 
have  it. 

Good-natured  Ovid  is  the  earliest  writer  we  can 
call  to  mind,  who  established  a  direct  intercourse  be- 
tween the  Reader  and  himself     We  feel  all  the  diller- 


134  "^"^    WISHING-CAP    PAPKRS. 

ence  he  describes  between  our  comfortable  situation 
at  home,  and  his  cold  and  solitary  exile  ;  and  doubly 
sympathize  with  tlie  man,  from  the  compliment  paid 
us  by  so  famous  a  poet.  It  is  the  only  instance  of 
the  kind  we  recollect,  in  which  Rome  cuts  a  domes- 
tic h<;urc  in  one's  imagination,  instead  of  being  the 
great  domineering  city,  paraded  by  consuls,  and 
looking  warlike  or  Ciceronian.  For  Pliny,  somehow, 
does  not  make  us  enter  cordially  into  his  fine  houses. 
We,  the  Reader,  were  then  a  wit  and  fine  gentleman 
about  town,  under  the  eye  of  Augustus;  hatless,  and 
gowned  ;  and,  as  Arbuthnot  says  of  that  prince,  with- 
out glass  to  one's  windows  or  a  shirt  to  one's  back. 
The  Reader,  to  wit,  ourself,  need  not  be  informed, 
that  ancient  reading,  being  in  manuscript,  was  much 
nnore  confined  than  it  is  at  present.  In  Greece  we 
were  a  philosopher,  an  historian,  a  poet ;  latterly  a 
grammarian,  a  collector  of  epigrams,  or  a  mystic. 
What  are  ordinary  readers  now  were  then  listeners 
to  the  poet's  lyrics,  or  audiences  at  an  Olympic  game 
or  a  theatre.  And  it  was  the  same  in  the  age  of  chiv- 
alry. Hence  the  addresses  of  the  poets  to  their 
harps  and  audiences.  Milton  covenanted  with  us 
("the  Knowing  Reader")  for  tiie  performance  in  due 
time  of  an  epic  poem  ;  but  when  he  had  gloriously  re- 
deemed his  promise,  he  spoke  of  us  as  an  auditor  ;  — 
"■  Fit  audience  find  though  few."  For  a  long  time 
we  were  either  a  professed  minstrel,  or  else  a  clerk  or 
ecclesiastically  learned  person,  as  distinguished  from 
the  laity.  Chaucer  and  others  helped  to  extend  our 
jurisdiction.  Our  friend  Caxton,  in  the  reign  of  Ed- 
ward  the  Fourth,   addressed    his   History   of  Prince 


ESSA    S    AND    SKETCHES.  1^5 

Arthur  to  us,  under  the  title  of  "  the  Christian  Read- 
er." By  this  time  we  had  included  the  people  of 
quality,  both  male  and  female,  to  whom  he  accord- 
ingly proceeds  to  address  himself.  These  gave  rise 
to  the  term  ••  Gentle  Readers,"  our  gentleness  at  that 
time  consisting,  not  in  its  modern  efl'eminate  qualities, 
but  in  having  high  blood  in  us,  and  being  qualified 
to  knock  people  on  the  head.  Caxton,  however, 
judiciovisly  distinguishes  between  such  as  "  desire 
to  read  "  and  such  as  *'  desire  to  hear  read."  Bv  a 
subsequent  edition  of  this  work,  it  may  be  seen  how 
we  had  increased  our  body  corporate  among  the  ple- 
beians;  for  the  editor  takes  upon  himself  to  be  in- 
solent. "  Thus,"  says  he,  "  reader,  I  leave  thee  at 
thy  pleasure  to  read,  but  not  to  judge,  except  thou 
judge  with  understanding.  The  ass"  (think  of  that 
said  nowadays  to  '•  the  reading  public  !  ")  "  is  no 
competent  judge  between  the  owl  and  the  nightin- 
gale, for  the  sweetness  of  their  voices;  cloth  of  arras 
or  hangings  of  tapestry  are  not  fit  to  adorn  a  kitch- 
en ;  no  more  are  kettles,  pots,  and  spits  to  hang  in  a 
lady's  bed-chamber;  neither  is  it  becoming  for  a  man 
to  censure  that  which  his  ignorance  cannot  perceive, 
or  his  pride  and  malice  prejudicate  or  cavil  at."  —  This 
fellow  must  have  Ijeen  a  laiight,  at  least. 

Art  author  who  is  uneasy  with  his  readers  has  gen- 
erally good  reason  to  be  so.  We  like  him  in  propor- 
tion as  lie  is  the  reverse  ;  that  is  to  say,  provided  he  is 
worthy  of  our  company;  and  more  especially,  if  as  in 
Ovid's  case,  he  docs  it  honor.  With  what  reverence 
do  we  not  receive  those  personal  communications 
vouchsafed  us  by  such  writers  as  Milton,  and  imper- 


136  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

tincntly  called  impertinences  by  the  critics!  How 
we  love  them  in  writers  of  a  tenderer  cast,  and  en- 
joy their  gayet}'  in  the  more  lively  !  Scaliger,  speak- 
ing of  the  delightful  egotism  of  Montaigne  (would 
that  all  good  authors  were  as  modest  as  he,  and  not 
afraid  of  committing  their  dignity  !),  asks  "  what  the 
devil  it  signifies  whether  he  liked  this  wine  or  that?" 
It  signifies  that  he  understood  the  social  part  of  us, 
and  that  he  was  not  an  arrogant  critic,  who  thought 
himself  too  good  for  his  readers.  When  Fielding 
arrests  the  progress  of  one  of  his  narratives  to  tell  us 
of  the  little  parlor  in  which  he  was  writing  with  his 
children  about  him,  how  thankful  do  we  not  feel  for 
his  good-natured  humanity  in  thus  letting  us  into  his 
domestic  difiiculties,  —  in  giving  the  picture  at  once 
the  zest  of  a  pain  and  the  cordiality  of  a  pleasure  ! 
How  does  it  not  make  us  wish,  that  all  men,  not  ill- 
inclined,  could  know  and  understand  one  another; 
could  see  how  much  pain  they  can  endure,  and  how 
much  pleasure  bestow  I 

"The  Reader's"  loss  of  consequence  nowadays, 
as  we  have  before  observed,  is  his  gain  ;  that  is  to  say, 
"  The  Reader"  is  going  out,  because  all  are  readers. 
The  newspapers  and  magazines  speak  of  us  as  "  our 
readers."  We  are  sometimes  directly  called  "  the  pub- 
lic," and  scavengers  and  beadles  address  us,  with  talents 
that  used  to  be  confined  to  the  clergy.  Still  there  is 
"  The  Reader"  properly  so  called,  that  is  to  say,  the 
Reader  genuine  and  fond  of  reading;  and  as  such  we 
have  still  our  tastes  and  our  distinctions.  We  often 
read  at  breakfast  and  tea  ;  are  sometimes  observed 
reading  even  in  the  streets,  —  not  out   of  ostentation, 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  1 37 

but  because  we  cannot  leave  our  friend  at  home  :  na}', 
if  dining  alone,  we  like  to  have  the  book  open  beside 
us,  or  will  stick  it  up  against  the  loaf,  and  devour 
salad  and  Sir  Walter  at  the  same  time. 

We  find  no  obstacles  in  the  streets.  We  thread  the 
multitude  as  easily  as  a  fish  does  the  sea  among  his 
fellows,  or  a  blind  bat  avoids  chairs  and  tables  in  a 
room.  We  keep  a  sort  of  eye,  without  seeing  it,  to 
the  gutter ;  and  have  the  path  down  a  hill  before  us, 
v\'ithout  trying  to  keep  it.*  We  prefer,  however, 
green  lanes,  or  a  lane  with  bookstalls,  stopping  occa- 
sionally to  compare  notes  with  the  blackbirds,  and 
always  stopping  to  look  at  the  books.  Ii*  the  latter 
case,  we  make  a  display  of  the  volume  in  our  hand, 
lest  the  stall-man  should  confcnmd  it  with  one  of  his 
own.  If  we  put  it  in  our  pocket,  we  fancy  he  will 
see  it  sticking  out  as  we  move  off,  and  make  hastv 
search  before  we  get  out  of  sight.  We  fancy  he  will 
think  it  a  Waller,  "  price  9d.,"  or  a  description  of  the 
German  Spa,  or  Marcus  Antoninus's  Meditations,  or 
some  modern  writer  (perhaps  ourself!),  "same  as 
sells  at  five  shillings  !  " 

A  lounge  in  summer  against  a  bank  or  the  new- 
mown  hay,  has  been  too  often  described  fo  be  dwelt 
on.     In  doors,  if  the  season  be  fine  and  warm,  a  sofa 


•  Herein  diffcriiig  from  book-loving  Ch.irlcs  Lamb,  who,  in  his  Detnched 
Thoughts  on  BookkandReading,  says,  "  I  am  not  much  a  friend  to  out-of-doors 
reading.  I  cannot  settle  my  spirits  to  it.  I  know  a  Unitarian  minister,  who 
was  generally  to  be  seen  ujion  Snow  Hill  (as  yet  Skinner's  Street  was  not),  be- 
tween the  hours  often  and  eleven  in  the  morning,  studying  a  volume  of  Lardncr. 
I  own  this  to  have  been  a  stram  of  abstraction  beyond  my  reach.  I  used  to 
admire  how  he  sidled  along,  keeping  clear  of  secular  contacts.  An  illiterate  en- 
counter with  a  porter's  knot,  or  a  brcid-basket,  would  have  quickly  put  to  (light 
all  the  theology  I  am  master  of,  and  have  left  me  worae  than  indifferent  to  the 
five  points."  —  Eo 


138  THE    VVISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

is  the  tiling,  after  a  walk,  with  the  balmy  substitution 
of  slippers  for  boots,  and  a  new  work  to  begin  ;  or,  say, 
the  fifth  chapter  of  a  new  novel,  where  you  turned 
down  a  leaf,  and  were  at  a  most  interesting  passage. 
The  ivory  knife  to  cut  open  the  leaves  with,  is  also 
pleasing.  We  cannot  but  think  there  is  a  kind  of 
sensual  pleasure  in  it.  We  must  not  dwell  upon  the 
pleasure  of  reading  in  bed,  turning  first  one  elbow 
and  then  the  other,  and  finally  lying  upon  one's  back, 
wondering  we  did  not  choose  that  happy  posture  at 
once.  The  custom  is  dangerous,  and  conscientious 
readers  leave  it  off,  if  they  are  not  sure  the  candle  will 
be  put  out»  A  book  behind  the  pillow  for  morning, 
is  another  thing ;  or  even  for  the  chance  of  reading, 
if  you  wish  it,  though  you  never  do.  But  we  shall  be 
reverting  to  particular  tastes.  As  to  winter  time,  we 
believe  it  will  be  allowed  by  all  catholic  perusers, 
that  an  elbow-chair,  and  a  foot  on  each  hob,  is  the 
most  luxurious  enormity. 

1830.  "The  Reader." 


DR.  DODDRIDGE  AND  THE  LADIES. 

THIS  is  another  volume  of  the  work*  which  ex- 
cited so  much  attention  and  amusement,  as 
disclosing  the  livelier  part  of  Dr.  Doddridge's  char- 
acter, and  his  fondness  for  the  ladies.  We  mean  to 
say  nothing  against  the  doctor's  reputation.  His 
fondness  was   kept   within   legal    bounds,   and    only 

*  The  Correspondence  and  Diary  of  Philip  Doddridge,  D.  D.,  &c.  Edited 
from  the  original  MSS.  by  his  Great-grandson,  John  Doddridge  Humphreys, 
Esq.     Vol.  IV.     London,  1830. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  139 

overflowed  in  a  double  stream  of  benevolence  towards 
the  fair  sex,  —  in  a  pleasing  mixture  of  piety  and 
gayety,  —  a  double  wish  to  please  and  to  be  pleased. 
But  the  public  were  amused  to  see  a  name,  which 
had  hitherto  partaken,  however  mildly,  of  the  com- 
mon gloom  in  which  Dissenters  stand  with  the  world, 
suddenly  invested  with  a  radiance  of  gallantry  and 
hilarity,  as  if  Venus  had  taken  an  arch  pleasure  in 
throwing  a  light  upon  him  from  the  clouds,  and  show- 
ing that  doctors  are  men. 

It  is  a  pitv  to  think  that  there  are  persons  who  find 
fault  with  this  new  light,  and  think  it  unbecoming 
the  seriousness  of  a  dissenting  minister's  rei^outation. 
It  is  lamentable  to  see  how  hard  men  can  struggle  to 
keep  up  painful  pretensions  and  false  notions  of  piety, 
—  what  ingenious  steps  they  take  to  have  as  little 
comfort  and  to  maintain  as  great  a  portion  of  vice  as 
possible,  in  order  to  indulge  upon  the  one  the  spleen 
which  the  other  occasions.  A  great  scandal  was 
lately  excited  among  the  ascetics  of  the  Catholic 
church  (luckily  a  very  small  body  now)  by  the  dis- 
covery that  the  celebrated  Bossuet,  the  proud  cham- 
pion of  the  Roman  faitii,  the  St.  Paul  of  the  French 
court,  was  in  love,  and  wrote  billets-doux.  They 
misht  well  dislike  it,  for  there  was  reason  to  be- 
lieve  that  the  poor  bishop,  on  the  strength  of  the  aus- 
terities exacted  of  him,  had  an  actual  mistress,  and 
so  was  made  a  livpocrite.  If  Doddridge  had  been 
one  of  his  clergy,  he  would  very  likely  have  been 
a  hypocrite  too,  though  of  a  more  charital)Ie  oidcr. 
The  Catholic  chiucli,  in  this  matter,  is  lilled  by  its 
tenets  with  lies  and  contradictions;  the  worst  and  the 


140  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

best  men  are  alike  induced  to  sin,  the  former  because 
they  are  gross  and  double-dealing,  the  latter  because 
the}'  have  the  strongest  sympathies  ;  and  thus  all  come 
to  practise  hypocrisy  in  common,  and  real  vices  are 
propagated  by  false  virtues.  However,  these  absurdi- 
ties are  diminishing  every  day. 

Dr.  Doddridge  was  an  amiable  man,  of  a  sprightly 
blood,  and  of  a  hectic  temperament,  which  ultimately 
threw  him  into  a  consumption.  His  views  were  too 
cheerful  for  his  doctrines,  which  he  was  accused  of 
accommodating  to  different  companies  ;  that  is  to  say, 
his  charity  predominated,  and  he  found  out,  in  his  va- 
rious texts,  something  to  enliven  everybody  he  caine 
nigh.  Men  of  other  complexions,  who  were  uneasy 
with  themselves,  preached  from  uneasy  texts  :  he  took 
up  the  cheerful  ones,  and  made  everybody  grateful 
wherever  he  went,  talking  to  the  old  of  Methusalem, 
and  comparing  the  ladies  to  Eve  in  Paradise.  Accord- 
ingly he  was  adored  by  all  classes  and  ages.  Doors 
flew  open  to  receive  him  ;  men  pressed  his  hands  ;  old 
ladies  fell  in  love  with  him,  and  young  ladies,  who 
were  not  allowed  to  fall  in  love,  beatified  his  wife, 
and  wrought  ornaments  for  her  person.  The  first 
characteristic  thing  we  meet  with  in  the  volume  be- 
fore us  is  a  "  splendid  apron  "  which  "  dear  Miss 
Scott"  wrought  on  purpose  for  Mrs.  Doddridge,  and 
with  which  the  doctor  felt  himself  "quite  over- 
whelmed." The  editor  speaking  of  it  as  now  exist- 
ing, says  it  is  "  one  of  the  most  costly  and  beautiful 
that  can  be  imagined.  Groups  of  ranunculuses  and 
other  flowers  are  represented  by  colored  silks,  re- 
lieved with  gold  ;  and  a  butterfly  is  introduced  with  so 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  I4I 

much  skill,  that  it  may  almost  deceive  the  eye."  The 
doctor,  who  was  an  elegant  poet,  addressed  her  the 
following  seraphical  lines  upon  it:  — 

TO  MISS   SCOTT, 

ON   HER   PRESENTING   MRS.    DODDRIDGE  WITH   AN   EMBROIDERED    APRON. 

Too  lovely  maid,  possess'd-of  every  art 
To  charm  the  fancy  and  command  the  heart. 
The  bloom  of  Paradise  thy  needle  paints. 
Thy  song's  the  echoes  of  celestial  saints  ; 
And  the  blest  youth,  to  whom  thy  love  is  given, 
IV ill  pass  through  Eden,  on  his  luay  to  Heaven. 

Alas!  noblest  youth  (more  shame  for  him)  took  a 
road  so  delightful.  Miss  Scott,  whom  her  father 
called  a  "  Protestant  Nun,"  from  her  devotion  to  works 
of  charity,  and  who  was  a  poetess  as  well  as  a  pain- 
tress,  died  a  maid.  There  were  not  enough  Dr.  Dod- 
dridges  to  appreciate  her.  It  is  astonishing  how  many 
people  one  longs  to  liavc  married  in  old  times,  purely 
to  rescue  one's  sex  from  the  disgrace  of  unfeelingness. 

This  poor  girl  subsequently  fell  into  a  state  of  re- 
ligious gloom  (owing  to  those  infernal  doctrines  of 
Calvinism,  which  the  doctor's  happier  condition  en- 
abled him  to  throw  ofi")  ;  but  it  does  not  appear  to 
have  succeeded  in  overwhelming  her.  Iler  health 
was  bad,  and  she  mistook  the  gloomy  impressions 
resulting  from  it  for  an  irreligious  state  of  mind.  In 
the  present  volume  arc  .some  alTccting  letters  which 
passed  Ijetwecn  her  and  the  doctor  ;  and  pretty  strong 
instances  of  the  light  in  which  she  regarded  him. 
We  fear  he  ought  to  have  turned  Mussulman,  or  not 
written  verses. 

The  doctor  was  too  ready  an  admirer  of  all  charm- 
ing women  not  to  have  the  good  wishes  of  any  one 


I|2  THE    WISHIXG-CAP    PAPERS. 

of  them.  Mrs.  Doddridge  should  have  secreted  his 
letters  from  her  fair  friends.  At  page  91,  he  writes 
thus  to  her  :  '•  On  Tuesday  I  dined  with  Mr.  Faw- 
cett's  mistress:  a  sweet  girl  truly  (he  had  said  in  a 
previous  letter,  that  her  temper  was  like  his  wife's), 
fair  as  alabaster,  with  black  eyes  and  hair,  a  pretty 
little  mouth,  and  wanting  only  a  little  more  color  in 
her  cheeks,  'which  now  and  then  I  gave  her.  These 
sons  of  Levi  (Mr.  Fawcett  was  a  minister)  take  for 
their  wives  the  best  of  the  flock,  and  it  is  but  Jit  they 
should." 

Mrs.  Doddridge  is  somewhat  startled  at  the  "  pretty 
little  mouth,"  and  musters  up  some  correspondents  in 
his  absence  ;  and  a  colonel,  to  give  him  a  counter  hint 
with  ;  but  all  in  great  pleasantness  and  good  humor. 

"  I  heartily  rejoice,"  she  says,  "  in  the  prosperity 
of  all  my  friends  ;  but  permit  me  to  tell  you,  my 
dear  sir,  that  I  am  a  little  in  pain  for  your  constan- 
cy, and  think  I  have  some  reason,  when  you  seem  so 
transported  with  those  genteel  young  ladies,  with 
their  black  eyes  and  alabaster  complexions !  with 
pretty  little  mouths  too  :  indeed,  I  think  I  have  much 
more  to  apprehend  from  them  than  from  the  good 
old  lady  of  eighty-one  you  told  me  of  some  time 
ago  ;  however,  I  will  endeavor  to  comfort  myself, 
that  notwithstanding  all  these  powerful  temptations, 
your  constancy  will  be  as  inviolably  secure  as  my 
own,  and  more  I  cannot  wish  it  to  be,  though  per- 
haps should  I  tell  you  this  is  the  third  letter  I  have 
written  by  this  post !  so  extraordinary  a  circum- 
stance might  give  you  a  suspicion  that  I  am  carry- 
ing on  some  intrigue  in  your  absence;    but  I  need 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  X43 

do  no  more  to  remove  it  than  to  tell  you  the  names 
of  my  correspondents." 

The  colonel  was  the  famous  Colonel  Gardiner, 
who  from  a  man  of  pleasure  became  hypochondri- 
acal, and  saw  a  ghost.* 


•  This  is  the  story,  as  related  by  Dr.  Doddridge  in  his  biography  of  Colonel 
Gardiner:  "The  major  had  spent  the  evening  (and,  if  I  mistake  not,  it  was 
the  Sabbath)  in  some  gay  company,  and  had  an  unhappy  assignation  with  a 
married  woman,  whom  he  was  to  attend  exactly  at  twelve.  The  company  broke 
up  about  eleven  ;  and  not  judging  it  convenient  to  anticipate  the  time  appointed, 
he  went  into  his  chamber  to  kill  the  tedious  hour,  perhaps  with  some  amusing 
book,  or  some  other  way.  But  it  very  accidentally  happened,  that  he  took  up  a 
religious  book,  which  his  good  mother  or  aunt  had,  without  his  knowledge, 
slipped  into  his  portmanteau.  It  was  called,  if  I  remember  the  title  exactly, 
The  Christian  Soldier,  or  Heaven  taken  by  Storm,  and  it  was  written  by  Mr. 
Thomas  Watson.  Guessing  by  the  title  of  it  that  he  would  find  some  |  hrases  of 
his  own  profession  spiritualized  in  a  manner  which  he  thought  might  afford  him 
some  diversion,  he  resolved  to  dip  into  it  ;  but  he  took  no  serious  notice  of  any- 
thing, and  yet,  while  this  book  was  in  his  hand,  an  impression  was  made  upon 
his  mind  (perhaps  God  only  knows  how)  which  drew  after  it  a  train  of  the  most 
important  and  happy  consequences.  He  thought  he  saw  an  unusual  blaze  of 
light  fall  on  the  book  while  he  was  reading,  which  he  at  first  imagined  might  hap- 
pen by  some  accident  in  the  candle.  But  lifting  up  his  eyes,  he  apprehended, 
to  his  extreme  amazement,  that  there  was  before  him,  as  it  were  suspended  in  the 
air,  a  vijible  representation  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  upon  the  cross,  s'lrrounded 
on  all  sides  with  a  glory:  and  was  impressed  as  if  a  voice,  or  something  equivalent 
to  a  voice,  had  come  to  him,  to  this  effect  (for  he  was  not  eoufident  as  to  the  very 
wordf),  'O  sinner  !  did  I  suffer  this  for  thee,  and  are  these  the  returns?'  But 
whether  this  was  an  audible  voice,  or  only  a  strong  impression  on  his  mind 
equally  striking,  he  did  not  seem  very  confident :  though,  to  the  best  of  my 
remembrance,  he  rather  judged  it  to  be  the  former."  But,  according  to  that 
"shrewd,  clever  old  carle,"  Rev.  Dr.  Carlyle  of  Inveresk,  who  knew  Gardiner 
well.  Dr.  Doddridge  has  marred  this  story,  "eilher  through  mistake  or  through 
a  desire  to  make  Gardiner's  conversion  more  supernatural,  for  he  says  that  his 
appointment  was  at  midnight,  and  introduces  some  sort  of  meteor  or  blaze  of  light 
that  alarmed  the  new  convert."  But  this  was  not  the  case,  adds  Carlyle  ;  "  for 
I  have  heard  G.irdincr  tell  the  story  at  least  three  or  four  times,  to  different  sets 
of  people,  — for  he  was  not  shy  or  backward  to  speak  on  the  subject,  as  many 
would  have  been.  But  it  was  midd.iy,  for  the  appointment  was  at  one  o'clock  ; 
and  he  told  us  the  reason  of  it,  which  was,  that  the  surgeon  or  apothecary  had 
shown  some  symptoms  of  jealousy,  and  they  chose  a  time  of  day  when  he  was 
necessarily  employed  abroad  in  his  business." 

Carlyle  nl  o  m.iintains  that  >is  Gardiner  told  the  story  there  was  nothing  super- 


144  "THE    WISHING-CAP    PAFEUS. 

At  page  I02  is  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Docklrid^c  in  the 
Somersetshire  dialect,  which  shows  the  vivacity  of 
the  doctor's  spirits.  Certainly  he  was  the  gayest  Cal- 
vinist  on  record.  At  page  44  we  find  him  catching 
maids  at  sea.  "  If  you  consult  the  map  (he  observes), 
you  will  see,  by  comparing  the  date  of  my  last,  that, 
like  the  sun,  which  is  still  in  the  tropic  of  Cancer, 
or  like  the  crabs  which  I  3'esterday  caught,  I  am  now 
in  a  kind  of  retrograde  motion,  or  at  least  go  side- 
ways. I  could  not  refuse  the  importunity  of  my 
friends  here  (happy  for  me  that  I  was  not  a  woman)  ; 
but  came  back  in  a  chaise  which  they  sent  for  me  on 
Sunday  night,  and  preached  (wicked  worm  that  I 
was)  an  evening  lecture  after  my  other  work  ;  but 
this  being  a  singular  instance,  you  will,  I  hope,  excuse 
it,  especially  as  I  was  welf  enough  to  rise  at  five  yes- 
terday morning,  and  to  make  a  voyage  down  the 
river,  which  is  ten  miles  to  the  sea  :  when  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  thirty-five  sail  of  ships,  and  of 
catching  a  great  number  of  soles,  plaice,  flounders, 
and  crabs,  with  two  lobsters,  and  ^.fair  Maid  !  who 
immediately  threw  herself  into  a  very  natural  atti- 
tude, and  frisked  about  with  a  strange  kind  of  motion  ; 
and  as  far  as  I  could  judge  by  the  strong  action  of  the 
muscles  of  her  face,  and  especially  of  her  mouth,  made 
a  very  pathetic  motion  in  a  language  I  did  not  un- 
derstand. The  name,  however,  she  had  the  honor  to 
bear,   and    her    rescmblaizce  to  your  very   agreeable 

natural  in  it.  It  was  the  book,  and  not  a  supernatural  appearance  that  con- 
verted Gardiner.  "  He  was  so  much  taken  with  this  book  that  he  allowed  his 
hour  of  appointment  to  pass,  never  saw  his  mistress  more,  and  from  that  day 
left  ofif  all  his  rakish  habits,  .  .  .  and  the  contempt  of  sacred  things,  and  became 
a  serious  good  Chr.stian  ever  after."  —  Ed. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  I45 

sex,  impressed  me  so  far  that  had  not  my  compan- 
ions been  less  compassionate  than  myself,  I  believe 
she  had  still  been  sporting  with  the  river  nymphs, 
and  perhaps  celebrating  the  courtesy  of  that  gallant 
kni"-ht  to  whom  she  became  a  captive.  But  I  must 
assure  you,  my  dear,  that  though  she  was  detained 
in  the  vessel,  nothing  passed  between  us  that  could 
give  you  any  reasonable  umbrage  ;  and,  fair  as  she 
was,  these  lips  have  not  yet  touched  her  !  nay,  so 
insensible  is  my  heart  to  the  charms  of  her  whole 
species,  that  I  give  it  you  under  my  hand  that  I  had 
rather  have  a  single  shrimp,  than  as  many  of  these 
fair  creatures  as  would  stock  a  Turkish  seraglio." 

Our  gallant  doctor  is  always  paying  compliments 
to  his  wife,  who  appears  to  have  deserved  them. 
His  accounts  of  the  compliments  he  receives  from 
other  ladies,  and  the  charming  "reception  he  is  always 
mectin"'  with  from  the  most  amiable  families,  must 
have  put  her  faith  in  him  to  some  test.  He  does 
not  spare  it  a  handsome  trial  ;  and  yet  he  contrives 
to  make  the  trial  a  ground  of  homage.  His  kindness 
seems  to  have  been  on  a  par  with  his  vanity;  and 
that  is  saying  much  for  a  flattered  man.  He  says 
at  the  close  of  the  above  letter  about  maids, — 
"  But  to  be  serious,  it  was  a  very  pleasant  day,  and 
I  concluded  it  in  the  company  of  one  of  the  finest 
women  I  ever  beheld,  who,  though  she  has  seven 
cliildrcn  grown  up  to  marriageable  years,  or  very 
near  it, -is  herself  still  almost  a  beauty,  and  a  person 
of  sense,  good-breeding,  and  piety,  which  might  as- 
tonish one  who  had  not  the  happiness  of  being  in- 
timately acquainted  with  you. 
10 


146  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

"  I  am  just  returning  in  the  vehicle  in  which  I  came 
from  Ipswich  ;  Providence  has  there  also  strangely 
cast  my  lot  in  one  of  the  most  friendly  and  agree- 
able families  I  have  met  with  ;  and  absolutely,  as  I 
am  informed,  the  best  in  the  whole  town,  though 
not  that  which  I  intended  to  have  visited.  Mr.  Wood 
is  extremely  obliging.  Everything  is  done  that  can 
be  to  make  me,  if  possible,  forget  you  !  and  yet 
every  circumstance  serves  a  contrary  purpose.  The 
more  agreeable  the  persons  I  see  about  me,  the  more 
am  I  reminded  of  her  who  is  most  agreeable  ;  and 
the  more  pleasurable  the  scenes  I  pass  through,  the 
more  do  I  wish  to  share  them  with  you,  and  by 
sharing  to  double  them. 

"  But  I  forget  that  a  young  lady  has  done  me  the 
honor  to  invite  me  to  breakfast  with  her ;  and  par- 
don my  vanity,  when  I  tell  you  it  is  one  who  was 
pleased  to  say  that  she  would  have  gone  a  thou- 
sand miles  for  such  an  interview  with  me  as  she 
enjoyed  last  week.  She  is,  I  perceive,  mistress  of 
a  handsome  house  and  independent  fortune  ;  but  be- 
lieve me,  that  should  such  things  as  these  happen 
to  me  every  day,  I  should  still  rejoice  that  I  am, 
"  My  dearest  Love, 

"  Securely  and  entirely  yours, 

"  P.  Doddridge." 

At  page  50,  he  says,  — 

"  I  have  been  partaking  of  a  most  elegant  supper; 
but  I  solemnly  declare,  that  a  crust  of  brown  bread 
and  a  draught  of  water  with  you  had  been  a  feast 
far    exceeding    it.      A  thousand    things  which    once 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  I47 

seemed  romantic,  grow  plain  sober  sense  when  re- 
ferred to  you.  But  I  can  add  no  more.  My  dearest, 
farewell.  These  tedious  days  of  absence  will  come 
to  a  conclusion,  and  I  shall,  for  a  while  at  least, 
lose  all  my  cares,  were  they  a  thousand  times  great- 
er, in  your  delightful  society." 

The  following  passage,  from  one  of  the  doctor's 
scientific  friends,  reminds  us  of  Buflbn's  theory  of  the 
earth,  whicli  he  thought  was  struck  by  a  comet  from 
the  sun. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  use  is  usually  assigned  to 
the  sun's  motion  ;  but  we  know  that  motion  is  essen- 
tial to  all  terrestrial  fire  ;  and  wliy  may  it  not  be  so 
to  the  solar  fire  likewise?  Motion  produces  fire,  and 
keeps  it  burning.  And,  by  the  way  (since  you  are 
upon  experiments),  let  me  hint  to  you  a  pretty  micro- 
scopical one,  if  you  have  it  not  already.  Strike  fire 
with  a  flint  and  steel  on  a  sheet  of  paper  ;  gather 
up  the  dust  and  put  it  into  your  microscope,  and 
you  will  see  round  iron  balls ;  which  shows  that  the 
motion  of  striking  heats  the  steel  even  to  fusion,  so 
that  every  spark  is  a  drop  of  melted  steel,  which 
forms  itself  into  a  sphere,  for  the  same  reason  that 
the  drops  of  rain  are  globular.  Many  of  these  liquid 
spiicres  will  be  broken  and  thrown  into  irregular 
shapes  by  their  falling  on  the  j^aper  before  tliey 
are  sufHciently  cooled  ;  but  you  will  see  many  per- 
fect spheres.  My  third  magnifier  shows  them  as  big 
as  peas." 

Behold  (as  the  Frcncii  say)  a  letter  from  Mrs. 
Doddridge,  which  shows  that  she  is  resolved  not  to 
be  surpassed  by  the  doctor  in  loving,  however  she 
yields  to  him  in  other  sciences. 


148  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

"  Dearest  and  best  of  Men  :  Did  I  know  tenderer 
epithets,  I  should  certainly  use  them  ;  but  even  Mrs. 
Evans  herself  cannot  help  me  to  one  ;  for  though  she 
says  you  are  an  angel,  even  that  does  not  suit  nic 
so  well  whilst  I  myself  am  quite  a  mortal. 

"  She  has  formed  a  very  dangerous  conspiracy 
against  me  upon  30ur  return  ;  fatal  indeed  to  my  re- 
pose, should  it  succeed ;  but  I  make  myself  per- 
fectly easy  about  it,  and  believe,  how  great  soever 
your  friendship  for  Mr.  Evans  may  be,  you  would  not 
choose  to  change  wives  with  him,  at  least  not  at  pres- 
ent. But,  indeed,  my  dearest,  your  three  last  delight- 
ful letters  have  made  me  a  bankrupt  in  everything 
but  love  ;  that,  however,  is  a  stock  on  which  you 
may  largely  and  freely  draw  ;  and  give  me  leave  to 
tell  you,  dear  sir,  you  shall  not,  nor  cannot,  exhaust 
it ;  for,  though  I  most  readily  yield  you  the  superi- 
ority in  everything  else,  here  I  must  and  will  con- 
tend with  you,  at  least  for  an  equality,  and  could 
you  see  my  heart,  you  would  there  behold  it  written 
in  characters  which  neither  time  nor  age  can  erase. 
But,  alas  !  so  great  at  present  is  our  unhappy  distance, 
that,  as  Mr.  Pope  observes  upon  a  like  occasion,  were 
even  the  scheme  of  having  a  crystal  placed  in  the 
breast  to  take  place,  it  could  be  of  no  service  to  us ; 
and  therefore  we  must,  in  this  instance,  as  well  as  in 
many  others,  content  ourselves  with  believing  what 
we  cannot  perceive." 

Hallo!  At  page  182  we  find  Dr.  Doddridge,  the 
g^ave  divine,  the  Family  Expositor,  reading  the 
Wife  of  Bath's  Prologue  "  to  Nancy,  this  afternoon," 
and  taking  his  share  "  in  the  laugh  it  raised." 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  I49 

"  I  slept  last  night  as  comfortable  as  I  ever  did  in 
my  life,  and  my  cold  is  so  well  to-day,  that,  whereas 
I  could  scarcely  speak  five  words  together  eight-and- 
forty  hours  ago,  I  have  been  able,  without  any  diffi 
culty,  to  read  the  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale  (Prologue,  hd 
means)  to  Nancy  this  afternoon,  and  to  take  my  shara 
in  the  laugh  it  raised.  My  fair  auditor  was  particu 
larly  edified  with  those  lines  :  — 

There  swims  uo  goose  so  gray,  but  soon  or  late 
She  finds  some  houest  gander  for  her  mate. ' 

But  of  that  bv  the  way."  *  Nancy  (a  Miss  Ann 
^loore)  good-humoredly  disdains  the  application  of 
this  couplet  in  a  postscript.  We  hope  she  was 
the  lady  who  boxed  his  ears  at  page  253.  The 
doctor  was  certainly  very  provoking  sometimes,  be- 
twixt the  severity  of  his  doctrines  and  the  gayety  of 
his  conversation.  He  was  bound,  we  think,  either  to 
have  preached  other  doctrines,  or  not  have  been  so 
lively.  The  above  anecdote  is  a  curious  instance  of 
the  freedom  of  our  pious  ancestors,  with  regard  to  the 
books  they  would  read  in  company.  Do  we  think 
their  descendants  more  virtuous  in  not  reading  them? 
Not  a  jot.  We  think  them  apparently  more  consis- 
tent with  their  doctrine,  but  more  hypocritical  in  prac- 
tice ;  though  we  see  a  preferment  in  tiie  preceding, 
wliich  it  certainly  docs  not  look  for.  The  truth  is, 
their  doctrines   are   not  so  fixed  as  they  used  to  be  ; 

•  It  was  Pope's  vcrsi'iii  of  the  Wife  of  Bath's  Prologue  th.it  the  doctor  read 
toMi»s  Nancy.     Here  is  the  oriKiual  of  the  lines  quoted  above  :  — 
"  Ne  non  so  grey  goos  golh  ther  in  tlic  lake, 
(As  sayst  thou)  that  wol  ben  withoute  a  make."  —  Eo 


150  THE    WISIIING-CAP    PAPERS. 

and  they  do  not  know  whither  such  freedom  might 
lead  those,  who  are  as  Httle  certain  as  they  arc. 

In  a  letter  from  Warburton  to  Doddridge,  we  have 
the  opinion  of  that  celebrated  robustious  divine  on  the 
amount  of  happiness  in  human  life.  It  is  expressed 
with  his  usual  force.  "  Though  I  be  extremely  cau- 
tious," he  says,  "  what  sect  I  follow  in  religion,  yet 
any  in  philosophy  will  serve  my  turn,  and  honest 
Sancho  Panza's  as  well  as  any  ;  who,  on  his  return  from 
an  important  commission,  when  asked  by  his  master 
whether  they  should  mark  the  day  with  a  black  or  a 
ivhite  stone,  replied,  '  Faith,  sir,  if  you  will  be  ruled 
by  me — with  neither,  but  with  good  brown  ochre.' 
What  this  philosopher  thought  of  his  commission,  I 
think  of  human  life  in  general :  good  brown  ochre 
is  the  complexion  of  it." 

Warburton  had  been  living  at  his  friend  Allen's, 
and  living  too  well.  His  blood  was  getting  too  but- 
tery and  episcopal.  We  i-ecollect  mentioning  to  the 
late  Mr.  Hazlitt,  that  a  celebrated  living  writer  had 
declared  his  belief  in  the  predominance  of  evil  in  the 
world,  calling  it  "an  awful  fact."  —  "He  had  just 
lost  his  money,"  said  that  .shrewd  observer.  The 
French  have  a  phrase  of  seeing  things  "  in  rose- 
color."  We  have  no  such  phrases  in  this  country  : 
we  eat  and  drink  too  much,  and  get  too  much  money, 
and  think  that  evil  predominates.  There  is  enough 
evil,  surely,  to  mend,  particularly  in  our  system  ;  but, 
for  our  part  (and  we  have  had  care  enough  too),  we 
no  more  believe  that  evil  predominates,  compared 
with  good,  than  we  believe  the  sensations  of  ordinary 
health  to  be  disagreeable  instead  of  pleasant.     Man- 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  151 

kind,  generally  speaking,  enjoy  a  great  deal  of  good, 
and  all  their  best  impulses  press  them  forward  to  the 
attainment  of  more  and  better.  The  ch.eerfiil  French 
have  found  out  these  secrets,  and  we  cannot  do  better 
than  follow  them  in  promoting  the  discovery.  Hear, 
as  one  step  towards  it,  Warburton's  opinion  of 
Young's  Xight  Thoughts.  The  book,  to  be  sure,  curi- 
ously enough,  is  not  so  popular  with  us  as  in  France  ; 
but  the  French  can  aflbrd  to  like  melancholy  books. 
A  luxurious  contrast  is  furnished  to  their  vivacity. 
In  England,  a  melancholy  thought  gets  hold  of  us, 
and  worries  us  like  a  dog  hanging  at  a  bull's  nose. 
"  I  hope,"  says  Warburton,  "■  the  MS.  poem  you 
mentioned  in  your  last,  will  be  more  in  the  Chris- 
tian spirit  than  Dr.  Young's  '  Night  Complaint,'  —  a 
dismal  rhapsody,  and  the  more  dismal  for  being  full 
of  poetical  images,  all  frightful,  without  design  or 
method  ;  so  that  I  have  tliought,  as  Mr.  Pope's  motto 
to  his  Essay  on  Man  was,  —  Know  yourself :  so  the 
motto  to  this  should  be,  —  Go  hang  yourself;  for 
what  has  any  man  to  do  else  under  that  perturbation 
of  mind  the  author  seems  to  be  in?  Yet  one  does 
not  know  what  to  think  of  him.  He  appears  rather 
to  be  under  a  poetical  than  a  religious  dilemma,  by 
the  straining  and  heaving  of  his  thoughts."  The 
secret  was,  that  Young  was  a  parasite  and  a  prefer- 
ment-hunter, who  failed  in  his  views,  and  only  had 
too  much  !  lie  was  melancholy  for  want  of  a  mitre. 
Wc  now  come  to  the  story  of  the  Box  on  the  Eai'. 
"  While  the  doctor,"  says  his  editor,  "  was  ever  ready 
to  yield  the  chastening  charms  of  female  society  their 
proper  influence,  he  was  far  from   abrogating  the  just 


153  THE    WISIIING-CAP    PAPERS. 

prerogative  of  masculine  sway  —  an  amusing  instance 
o'f  which  occarred  in  a  mixed  company,  when  the 
superior  authority  of  the  '  lords  of  the  creation'  was 
duly  vindicated,  as  the  following  anecdote  will 
avouch. 

"  Dr.  Doddridge  and  a  lady  of  his  acquaintance 
were  once  disputing  before  a  large  company  concern- 
ing the  authority  of  the  husband  over  his  wife,  when 
the  doctor  overcame  in  the  argument ;  and  the  lady, 
unable  to  restrain  herself  on  being  vanquished  in  so 
tender  a  point,  arose  from  her  chair,  and  going  up  to 
the  doctor,  half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest,  gave  him  a 
stroke  with  her  fan.  The  doctor,  on  receiving  this 
rough  treatment,  looked  a  little  grave,  and  after  a 
silence  of  a  few  minutes,  spoke  the  following  lines, 
to  the  visible  confusion  of  his  blushing  antagonist :  — 

Fidelio  once  most  unhappily  said, 
However,  such  nonsense  came  into  his  head, 
That  the  Sex  he  had  loved  and  studied  so  long 
Had  their  fancies  and  passions  a  little  too  strong. 
Sabrina  prew  warm  at  a  charge  so  unjust  ; 
To  plead  for  the  Fair  she  was  ever  the  first ; 
And  their  wisdom  atonce  in  her  anger  appears, 
When  to  answer  his  Reasons  she  boxes  his  ears.'  " 

We  have  said  the  doctor  was  a  provoking  man  ! 
There  was  more  in  his  provocations  than  appears  on 
the  face  of  them,  and  the  present  case  was  probably 
no  exception.  It  is  necessary  to  know  who  the  lady 
was,  before  we  can  pronounce  her  conduct  so  unfemi- 
nine  as  it  appears  to  have  been.  Was  she  married 
or  unmarried?  Was  she  rich  or  poor,  healthy  or 
sick,  happy  or  unhappy .''  Considerations  connected 
with  any  of  these  circmnstances  might  have  mingled 
with    the    argument,    and  warmed   her  blushes  with 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  153 

more  elovvs  than  one.  We  will  not  condemn  her  till 
we  know,  even  though  the  flap  of  her  fan  was  sorne- 
thing  equivocal ;  nor  can  we  allow  the  justice  of  the 
doctor's  triumph,  till  we  see  what  right  he  had  to  be 
so  very  argumentative  and  superior.  It  was  too  bad, 
in  a  man  so  amiable  and  so  well  off,  to  have  the  best 
of  an  argument,  as  well  as  a  charming  wife,  and  heaps 
of  admiring  friends,  fair  and  brown.  He  should  not 
have  overthrown  the  ladies  in  a  dispute,  and  set  him- 
self to  making  verses,  while  they  were  getting  up. 

The  heretical  doubt  respecting  the  lady  of  sixty,  in 
the  following  letter,  would  have  perplexed  poor  Miss 
Scott.  "  I  had  on  Saturday,"  the  doctor  writes  to  his 
wife,  "  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Shakespeare's  tomb  and 
epitaph,  as  also  the  monument  of  a  celebrated  person 
who  died  at  sixty,  and  a  maid,  if  her  tombstone  Jibs 
not.  She  came  from  Nonsuch  (the  Italics  of  this 
word  are  the  doctor's  own),  in  Surrey,  and  is  buried 
at  the  feet  of  the  Lady  Carew,  whose  waiting-woman 
she  was,  and  who,  that  she  (Lady  C.)  might  continue 
a  maid  no  longer,  is  said  to  have  jumped  out  of  a 
window  three  stories  high,"  In  the  chancel  of  Strat- 
ford cluirch  the  doctor  meets  with  "  a  cliarming  lady," 
with  whom  he  ''  would  have  been  glad  of  further  con- 
versation," and  who  was  "  indeed  a  woman  of  sur- 
prising sense,"  though  not  equal  to  Mrs.  Doddridge. 
lie  is  always  meeting  with  ladies  so  charming,  and 
welcomes  so  delicious,  and  lives  in  such  a  world  of 
love,  festivity,  religion,  and  locoinotion,  that  he  re- 
minds us  of  the  famous  Jolui  Ikuicle.  W'c  should 
have  thought  John's  character  drawn  from  him,  if  he 
had  married  live  wives,  and  been  a  Unitarian.       1^30. 


154  "^^^^    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


CONFECTIONERY. 

ONE  cannot  open  this  book  *  without  fancying 
that  one  scents  all  the  good  things  that  we  see 
mentioned  in  it,  —  the  cakes,  candies,  creams,  ices, 
preserved  fruit,  —  the  raspberry  tarts,  and  the  sirups 
of  violet.  Mr.  Gunter,  whom  "  the  gods  have  made 
poetical,"  and  who  quotes  Greek,  Latin,  and  Italian 
for  his  purpose,  justly  claims  for  his  art  something  of 
a  superior  elegance  to  that  of  all  others  connected 
with  the  table.  We  except  the  Fruiterer  ;  but  his  is 
not  more  of  an  in-door  than  an  out-of-door  art.  The 
Fruiterer  belongs  to  all  times  of  the  day,  and  all 
places  except  the  high  street ;  whereas  pastry  and 
confectionery  must  be  eaten  housed.  There  is  a 
sort  of  sophistication  connected  with  them  which 
does  not  do  for  pure  nature.  The  little  boy  is  the 
only  person  that  can  eat  his  bunn  in  the  face  of  heaven 
and  not  be  ashamed.  And  we  suspect,  that  with  all 
the  helps  of  Mr.  Gunter,  no  masticator  of  jelly  cakes, 
or  meringues,  eats  his  felicity  with  half  the  satis- 
faction that  he  did  his  bunn  v/hen  he  was  a  little 
boy. 

The  superiority  of  confectionery  and  pastry  over 
other  cookery  consists  in  its  association  with  fruits 
and    grain.      A    cookery-book    reminds    one  of  the 


♦  The  Confectioner's  Oracle,  containing  Receipts  for  Desserts,  &c.,  with  others 
for  Pastry-Cooks,  and  an  Elucidation  ot  the  Piinciples  of  Good  Cheer.  Being 
a  ConiDanion  to  Dr.  Kitchener's  Cook's  Oracle.      By  W.  Gunter. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES. 


^:):) 


shambles.  The  Confectioner  talks  to  us  of  sugars,  and 
oranges,  and  violets.  He  lives  in  quite  another  world. 
He  is  of  the  garden  and  the  dairy.  Eve,  who  "  tem- 
pered dulcet  creams,"  was  tlie  mother  of  his  pretty 
girls  in  the  pastry  shops.  Cookery  did  not  hcgin 
till  after  the  fall.  We  confess,  if  our  bad  habits 
would  let  us,  we  would  never  eat  joint  more,  but 
stick  to  this  paradisiacal  eating,  and  have  blood 
made  up  of  raspberries  and  the  rose.  It  is  not 
moral  weakness  that  prompts  us  to  the  wish,  any 
more  than  bodily  weakness  would  follow  it.  To 
get  out  of  the  necessity  of  beef  eating,  would  be  to 
get  out  of  the  necessity  of  excitement  and  clouded 
energy.  The  weakest  stomachs  are  those  which 
assimilate  best  with  flesh  already  made.  To  take 
to  a  sudden  course  of  li\ing  upon  fruits  and  farina 
might  endanger  it ;  but  he  that  had  never  lived  on 
anything  else  would  probably  beat  us  all.  The  late 
General  Elliott,  whose  picture,  by  Sir  Joshua,  maybe 
seen  in  Pall  Mall,  stout,  military,  with  a  nose  as 
energetic  as  his  cocked  hat,  lived  entirely  on  fruit 
and  vegetables. 

But  to  our  author.  Mr.  Gunter  seems  to  be  two, 
if  not  '•  three  gentlemen  at  once,"  in  his  book.  There 
is,  first,  the  gay,  bantering,  scholarly  Gunter,  superior 
to  his  trade,  and  tossing  his  quotations  about  him, 
from  the  Greek  and  Latin  ;  there  is  the  professional 
Gunter,  important  in  his  undertaking,  and  piquing 
himself  on  the  patronage  of  his  lords  and  ladies ; 
and,  finally,  there  is  the  Gunter  of  the  frontispiece, 
sitting  beside  a  table  with  a  fowl  on  it,  and  looking 
as  melancholy  as  the  first  is  gay.     He  seems  to  have 


156  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

no  appetite  to  his  dish,  but  rather  to  be  deploring  the 
bad  digestion  of  some  previous  one,  one  of  his  hands 
being  in  his  waistcoat,  and  his  face  looking  incredu- 
lous of  the  pleasures  of  this  world.  Tliis  Gunter 
may  be  the  second,  but  he  ought  not  to  have  been  so 
candid  in  his  lemon  peel.  Great  men  cannot  always 
alTord  to  be  seen  in  their  simplicity.  He  should 
have  given  us  a  head  of  himself  in  its  smartest  con- 
dition, like  Mr.  Ude  or  Mr.  Farley,  and  not  have  led 
the  reader  to  suppose  that  a  Confectioner  can  look 
mortal. 

To  the  Gunter  in  his  professional  state  we  have 
nothing  to  object.  We  take  it  for  granted  that  his 
cakes  and  jellies  are  made  after  the  most  exquisite 
fashion,  otherwise  the  facetious  Gunter  could  not 
have  introduced  "  Earl  Powis  "  making  a  sjDeech  in 
his  favor.  In  the  Advice  to  Confectioners,  we  have 
a  sketch  of  the  history  of  the  science,  more  smart 
than  satisfactory  ;  and  in  the  appendix  we  are  pre- 
sented, in  a  most  unexpected  and  disinterested  man- 
ner, with  remarks  on  digestion,  and  earnest  advice  to 
take  care  of  one's  health,  by  air,  temperance,  and 
exercise.  Such  is  the  march  of  intellect,  like  those 
of  the  white  ants,  over  one's  very  table,  and  so 
thoughtful  does  an  eater  of  pastry  become  in  spite 
of  the  vivacity  of  his  set-to.  Tliis  reminds  us  that 
Mr.  Gunter  may  say  what  he  -pleases  against  cooks, 
as  distinguished  from  pastry-cooks,  but  of  all  tlie 
substances  taken  into  the  daring  stomachs  of  men, 
the  physicians  tell  us  (and  we  believe  them)  that 
there  is  none  so  difficult  to  conquer,  and  so  provoca- 
tive of  horror  in  the  struggle,  as  the  compound  of 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  157 

flour  and  fried  butter,  known  to  the  unsuspecting 
under  the  innocent  name  of  pie-crust.  The  boy  goes 
on  bearing  it  for  a  long  time,  but,  as  he  grows  older, 
"  shades  of  the  prison  house"  begin  to  close  in  upon 
him,  as  Mr.  Wordsworth  says,  —  that  is  to  say,  of 
pie-crust ;  for  it  is  clear,  by  the  speculative  melan- 
choly of  that  poet,  that  he  has  been  a  large  eater  of 
it  in  his  time.  -'The  child,"  he  says,  "is  father  to 
the  man,"  —  that  is,  begets  all  the  habits  of  the  grown 
person  ;  and  pie-crust,  he  may  depend  upon  it,  is  the 
origin  of  much  melancholy  blank  verse  and  theologi- 
cal dilemma.*  We  except  this  from  the  innocencies 
of  our  pastrv,  unless  our  readers  are  fox-hunters,  or 
run  about  as  they  did  in  the  days  when  pie  was  bliss. 
In  that  case  they  may  eat  an}thing. 

But  we  have  another  objection  to  make  to  the  ele- 
gant Gunter,  which  is,  that  in  endeavoring  to  exalt 
his  art  into  new  regions  of  the  sweet,  he  becomes 
profane,  and  talks  of  love  and  the  ladies !  Now,  we 
must  never  have  two  such  things  as  love  and  the  love 
of  eating  brought  togetiier.  If  eating,  in  its  most 
innocent  shape  (as  no  doubt  may  be  the  case),  is 
found  in  connection  with  love,  care  must  be  taken  to 
distinguish  one  love  from  the  other,  and  not  confound 
their  metaphors  ami  their  sympathies.      Here  is  Dr. 


•  Hulmcs's  Autocrat,  you  may  remember,  once  took  more  of  his  landlady's 
pie  than  W.1A  good  for  liim,  and  had  an  indigestion  in  consequence.  "While  I 
wa»  !<i'fferin(?  from  it,"  he  s.iys,  "1  wrote  some  sadly  despondiuj;  poems  and  a 
theological  K»s.iy.  which  took  a  very  melancholy  view  of  creation.  When  I  got 
better,  I  labelled  them  all  '  Pic-Crust,'  and  laid  them  by  as  scarecrows  and  solemn 
warnings.  I  have  a  number  of  books  on  my  shelves  that  I  should  like  to  label 
with  some  such  titPe  ;  but  as  they  have  );rcat  names  on  their  title-pages,  — Doc- 
tors of  Divinity  some  of  them,  —  it  won  dn'i  do  "  —  Ed. 


158  THE    WISHING-CAP  PAPERS. 

Kitchener,  in  the  hitroduction,  represented  as  talking 
of  the  "  epicurism  of  the  sex,"  and  recommending^ 
Mr.  Gunter  to  give  "  a  sort  of  electrical  and  thrilling 
impulsion  "  to  all  the  ladies  !  We  hope  they  will  be 
on  their  guard  the  next  time  they  see  him.  He  is  an 
accomplished  but  dangerous  man.  In  the  same  place 
we  are  told  that  the  eating  of  a  delicate  confection, 
compared  with  that  of  a  ragout,  is  like  the  finer  feel- 
ing of  a  "  second  love"  compared  with  "the  undis- 
tinguishing  ardor  of  a  first  attachment  ;"  and  in 
the  appendix,  an  appetite,  which  requires  exciting,  is 
likened  to  "  the  lukewarm  heart  of  a  husband"  made 
warmer  by  the  "  caresses  of  his  wife."  We  beg  the 
lady  patronesses  of  Mr.  Gunter  to  put  a  stop  to  these 
profane  images.  There  is  an  elegance  in  the  pleas- 
ures of  confectionery,  which  does  not  extend  to  every 
sort  of  eating ;  but  the  grosser  part  of  both  sexes 
have  already  a  notion  that  eating  and  loving  are 
entertainments  of  the  same  family  ;  and  if  those  who 
understand  the  matter  do  not  interfere,  we  shall  have 
horrid  women  —  or,  rather,  no  women  —  laying 
down  the  laws  of  beef  and  affection  over  the  dinner 
table,  and  making  out  that  people  have  no  mind  to 
anything  but  body.  Miserable  creatures !  Nobody 
can  have  a  mind  to  theirs.  They  never  bring  to- 
gether the  two  ideas  of  love  and  wom.an.  They  are 
women  and  lobster  sauce,  and  fit  only  to  be  loved  by 
cannibals.  They  are  '•'•fond''''  of  fish  I  An  ogre 
would  be  "fond"  of  them. 

Ladies  and  sweetmeats  may  undoubtedly  be  brought 
together,  and  there  are  occasions  when  love  and  sweet- 
meats may  be  so.     There  is  a  pretty  instance  of  it  in 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  159 

a  scene  in  La  Fontaine's  love-making  novel,  called 
the  Family  of  Halden.  Mr.  Gunter  tells  us,  that 
"English  Meringues"  arc  an  especial  favorite  witli 

the  Marchioness    of   C ;  in  whose    praises,  and 

those  of  her  lovely  daughter,  he  could  "  almost  "write 

a  poem  out  of  gratitude  ;   that    Lady  De  R was 

the  first  who  introduced  into  high  life  the  artificial 
jelly  candy,  which  "  melts  in  the  mouth,  leaving  a 
charming  "titillation  on  the  tongue  ;  "  and  that  jelly 

cakes  owe  their  celebrity  to  Lady  Julia  H d,  of 

whom  it  is  said  that  ''  the  change  of  her  maiden  name 
of  C.  arose  from  the  very  elegant  manner  in  which  a 
plate  of  them  was  pointed  out  to  her  by  her  present 
lord,  and  the  few  words  of  his  musical  voice  which 
accompanied  the  folitessc  of  the  moment. 

"  What  great  events  from,  &c.,  &c." 

and  then  our  author  signs  his  initials  to  the  note  that 
conveys  this  interesting  information,  —  "  W.  G."  — 
This  is  innocent,  but  we  should  protest  against  hear- 
ing of  the  jelly  cakes  afterwards,  and  finding  them 
turned  into  images  of  bliss. 
1830. 


l6o  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


A  TREATISE  ON   DEVILS.* 

IT  is  much  easier  to  conceive  a  good  spirit  than  n 
bad  one,  not  only  because  the  hitter  is  useless 
and  his  sufferings  absurd  (nature  refusing  to  allow  of 
suflering  beyond  a  certain  pitch,  and  no  infliction  of 
ill  warranting  or  making  reasonable  a  further  and 
worse  infliction,  except  for  the  good  of  all  parties), 
but  because  malignity,  which  is  a  devil's  character- 
istic, and  which  is  understood  to  mean  the  love  of 
injuring  another  for  the  injury's  sake,  is  found,  upon 
a  due  knowledge  of  evil  and  its  causes,  to  be  a  thing 
altogether  fictitious  and  impossible.  The  worst  of 
men  does  not  injure  another  because,  abstractedly,  he 
would  do  him  a  miscliief,  but  in  order  to  get  rid  of 
some  pressure  of  evil  upon  himself.  Take  the  envi- 
ous man,  the  revengeful,  tlie  murderer  for  the  sake  of 
gain,  —  or  what  seems  worst  of  all,  the  murderer  for 
the  sake  of  murder,  —  and,  tracing  the  causes  of  his 
oflence  with  a  liumane  and  a  thoughtful  eye,  we  shall 
find  that  it  is  out  of  some  imaginary  disadvantage, 
some  sense  of  infelicity  or  inequality,  or  some  morbid 
want  of  excitement,  friglitening  the  poor  inconsider- 
ate wretch  himself  even  more  than  he  frightens  others, 

•  This  treatise  was  published  soon  after  the  appearance  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
Letters  on  Dcmonology  and  Witchcraft,  with  the  following  preface  or  introduc- 
tion :  "  Humbly  submitted  to  those  who  require  something  more  on  the  subject 
than  is  to  be  found  in  the  late  work  upon  Demonology,  and  particularly  to  such 
of  them  as  are  zealous  for  the  extirpation  of  unworthy  notions  of  God  and 
man."  —  Eu. 


ESSAYS    ANfD    SKETCHES.  l6l 

that  induces  him,  under  the  notion  or  the  impulse  of 
procuring  rcHef  to  his  own  desires,  to  thrust  his  evil 
upon  the  head  of  another.  And  the  worse  and  more 
wicked  we  could  suppose  a  creature  to  be,  the  more 
(not  to  speak  it  profanely)  woula  be  his  excuse  ;  be- 
cause the  more  dreadful  would  be  the  disadvantage 
under  which  he  lay,  the  more  tormenting  his  infe- 
licity, and  the  more  grievous  (if  it  could  never  be 
made  smooth  for  him)  his  wrong.  Pain,  like  a  heap 
of  brambles,  shows  us  our  departure  from  a  right 
path;  and  melancholy  it  seems  that  pain  should  be 
necessary,  even  supposing  it  to  exist  only  in  the 
younger  period  or  first  renewals  of  a  world,  after 
some  catastrophe  interrupting  its  bliss,  and  before 
the  new  wilderness  can  be  cleared  ;  but  as  all  evils 
are  not  so  evil  as  we  suppose  them,  so  we  know  from 
all  that  we  can  know  (and  notiiing  gives  us  a  right 
to  pronounce  further,  especially  in  contumely  of  what 
is  good)  that  the  worst  evils  are  fugitive,  and  the 
greatest  crimes  are  mistakes.  For  all  these  reasons 
(the  world  feeling  them  more  and  more  as  it  grows 
enlightened),  there  comes  up  by  degrees  a  suspicion 
that  it  is  better  to  say  as  little  as  possil)le,  in  a  serious 
way,  of  such  anomalies  as  devils:  —  in  a  little  while 
people  arc  allowed  to  doubt  them,  then  to  laugh  at 
them,  and  finally,  except  among  the  grossly  ignorant 
or  superstitious,  devils  remain  fit  subjects  fur  nothing 
but  jests,  and  caricature,  and  the  voluntary  gravity  of 
the  black-lettered. 

As    to  those   writers  and  others,  who  continue  to 
preach  a  doctrine  which  they  despise,  out  of  a  notion 
that  the  delusion  is  necessary  to  mankind,  —  that  men 
II 


l63  THE    WiSHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

are  so  wicked  as  to  require  terrors  to  keep  them  in 
awe, — and  other  half  reasonings  of  that  sort,  it  is  a 
great  presumption  in  them,  in  the  first  place,  to  as- 
sume a  privilege  of  exemption  from  those  duties  of 
veracity  to  which  they  would  fain  tie  the  rest  of  the 
world  ;  and,  secondly,  they  harm  their  own  natures 
by  it,  and  maintain  themselves  in  an  ill  opinion  of 
the  world  in  which  they  take  themselves  to  be  the 
wisest  persons.  They  rule  it  (as  they  think)  by  false- 
hood, and  yet  are  weak  enough  to  lament  that  it  is  as 
bad  and  false  as  it  is,  and  a  "  vale  of  tears."  Now,  the 
world  is  neither  so  bad  nor  so  unhappy  as  many  sup- 
pose it,  though,  assuredly,  there  is  sorrow  enough  in 
it  to  make  us  anxious  to  wipe  the  tears  out  of  its 
eyes ;  but  this  is  not  to  be  done  by  the  use  of  the 
very  falsehood  we  lament,  by  adding  to  what  is  al- 
ready evil  in  the  world,  —  melancholy  and  perplex- 
ing ideas  of  things  beyond  it,  and  all  this  at  a  time 
when,  the  delusion  being  discovered,  the  signal  is 
given  for  its  destruction.  As  men,  let  us  think  none 
of  us  exempt  from  the  virtues  and  sincerity  of  men  ; 
nor,  by  taking  ourselves  for  the  gods  of  the  foolish, ' 
imagine  we  must  have  devils  to  keep  the  peace  for 
us.  Truth  will  do  very  well  without  them,  if  we 
suffer  it  to  take  its  course.  Are  we  to  suppose  our- 
selves better  and  wiser  than  all  which  it  may  find 
out  for  us?  Wht)  has  given  us  the  clew  to  discover 
that? 

With  regard  to  the  existence  of  one  supreme  devil, 
or  conscious  and  wilful  Principle  of  Evil  (which  has 
been  doubted  by  the  most  orthodox,  upon  a  due  con- 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  163 

sideration  of  texts  and  Scripture),*  it  is  not  only  con- 
tradictory to  the  received  opinions  respecting  the 
omnipotence  and  beneficence  of  the  Deity,  but  is  a 
superfluity  in  common  reasoning  ;  for  as  it  is  a  maxim 
in  logic,  that  when  anything  can  be  accounted  for  on 
one  principle,  it  need  not  have  recourse  to  another, 
and  as  it  ought  equally  to  be  a  maxim  in  common 
sense  to  choose  the  more  agreeable  principle  of  the 
two,  it  is  much  better  to  refer  the  origin  of  evil  to 
that  inert  and  insensible  part  of  matter  of  which  Plato 
speaks,  and  the  hardness  of  which  causes  a  difficulty 
in  the  working  it,  tlian  to  set  up,  for  the  amusement 
of  sluggish  imaginations,  the  terrors  of  feeble  ones, 
and  the  poor  views  of  the  worldly,  a  gratuitous  ma- 
lignant spirit,  equally  absurd  whether  we  consider 
the  attributes  of  God  or  the  necessities  of  common 
reason.  And  herein  the  celebrated  living  writer,  who 
is  asdelightfid  in  fiction  as  he  appears  shallow  in  phi- 
losophy, and  who  has  addressed  a  book  to  a  little 
child  in  which  he  condescends  to  preach  the  horrible 
doctrine  of  hell  torments,  ought,  we  think,  to  have  a 

•  As  in  the  very  word  divil,  which  is  a  translation  of  the  Testament,  is 
assumed  to  betlie  meaning  ol  the  Greek  v/oriX  diabolos,  though  the  letters  signify 
in  accuser,  and  admirably  fit  the  passage  in  that  sense.  For  instance,  — "lie 
sober,  be  vigilant,"  says  the  Apostle,  "  for  your  adversary  the  accuser  walks 
about,  seeking  whom  he  may  devour."  What  can  be  better  than  this  construc- 
tion, or  more  natural  in  .iddrcsiiiig  a  letter  to  an  infant  community,  bound  to  be 
on  their  goixl  lichavior  ?  and  why  should  the  word  be  IranslatL-d  dn<ii  f  So  in 
the  famous  passage  in  Isaiah,  where  the  King  of  Uabylon  is  so  nobly  apostro- 
phized under  the  title  of  Lucik-r,  or  the  light  bringer,  son  of  the  morning.  Why 
should  this  be  tortured  iDto  a  prophecy  of  the  devil,  and  the  niorniiig  star  be 
made  synonymous  with  an  imaginary  infernal  being?  It  appears  to  us  that  a 
book  written  expressly  on  the  subject,  with  the  proper  requisiics  of  learning  and 
philosophy,  might  now  vitir  the  prcten»ions  of  this  infi.-rn.il  pcrsonane  forever. 
We  should  envy  the  composer  of  such  a.  work,  and  would  do  our  utmost  to 
•ccnnd  his  benefaction  to  mankind 


164  THE    WISHING-CAP   PAPERS. 

deep  sense  of  his  shame  and  hnmiJiation  :  for  it  is 
cither  a  great  weakness  in  hini  or  a  great  insincerity. 
He  says,  in  the  preface  to  one  of  his  novels,  with  an 
escape  of  cunning,  brought  upon  him  by  the  morti- 
fied vanity  of  a  failure,  that  he  will  never  go  counter 
to  pubHc  opinion  ;  or,  to  use  his  own  words,  will 
never  "  sail  against  the  stream."  *  We  need  not  say 
whether  it  is  becoming  in  a  man  of  genius  to  talk  in 
this  manner,  for  whatever  reason  ;  but  it  is  one  thing 
not  to  sail  against  the  stream,  and  another  to  go 
down  with  it  in  the  company  of  the  small  craft  of 
ignorance  and  hypocrisy.  Imagination,  however, 
carries  a  blessing  with  it  in  its  own  despite  ;  and  the 
magic  vessel,  in  this  instance,  while  the  captain  is 
thinking  of  nothing  but  the  flag  he  has  hoisted  in  favor 
of  old  prejudices,  has  a  stock  of  humanities  on  board 
that  shall  still  benefit  the  world. 

It  hardly  need  be  observed,  at  this  time  of  day,  that 
Milton's  devil  is  no  real  devil,  any  more  than  his 
divinity  is  really  divine.  The  divine  things  in  Para- 
dise Lost  are  the  poetry  and  the  humanity.  As  far 
as  his  devil  partakes  of  these,  the  devil  himself  be- 
comes divine ;  and  as  far  as  his  Deity  wants  them, 
we  feel  that  nothing  can  be  flatter  or  more  ungodly. 
Milton  laughed  at  the  vulgar  idea  of  the  devil,  and 
disdained  to  degrade  his  fallen  Archangel  into  horns 

*  In  Captain  Clutterbuck's  Introductory  Epistle  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Dryasdust, 
prefixed  to  the  Fortunes  of  Nigel,  the  author  of  Waverley  is  made  to  say,  in 
speaking  of  the  failure  of  the  White  Lady  in  The  Monastery,  that  no  one  shall 
find  him  "  rowing  against  the  stream."  "  I  care  not,"  he  adds,  "  who  knows  it, — 
I  write  for  general  amusement ;  and  though  I  never  will  aim  at  popularity  by 
what  I  think  unworthy  means,  I  will  not,  on  the  other  hand,  be  pertinacious  in 
the  defence  of  my  own  errors  against  the  voice  of  the  public."  —  Ed. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  1 65 

and  a  tail.  Had  he  delayed  writing  his  poem  some 
years  longer,  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  he  would 
have  disdained  to  degrade  his  Deity  into  a  "  school 
divine"  and  a  sorry  tyrant,*  or  to  think  t'nut  spirits 
in  a  state  of  perfect  bliss  and  virtue  could  fall.j  Such 
a  god  is  not  the  natural  God  of  a  great  poet ;  and 
from  some  remarkable  evidences,  not  only  in  his  later 
works,  but  that  transpired  on  proving  of  his  will,  it 
appears  certain  tiiat  he  retired  more  and  uKire  from 
the  vulgarities  that  had  been  palmed  upon  his  infancy 
into  the  sacred  recesses  of  his  own  thought,  and 
found  there  no  longer  an  unworthy  deity.  He  had 
"edified"  a  chapel  to  hiinself ;  J  and  the  music  of 
his  own  organ  now  ascended  into  a  nobler  sky,  giv- 
ing to  his  sightless  eyeballs  a  right  to  loolv  tranquil. 

No ;  the  only  genuine  devil  now  extant  is  the 
proper  old  woman's  devil,  with  horns  and  a  tail,  and 
he  begins  exceedingly 

"  To  pale  his  ineffectual  fire." 

•  "  And  God  the  Father  turns  a  school-divine."  — Pope. 

t  "  What  to  me  is  more  wonderful,"  says  the  author  of  Robinson  Crusoe, 
"and  which,  I  think,  will  be  very  ill  accounted  for,  is:  —  How  came  seeds  of 
crime  to  rise  in  the  aTipclic  nature,  created  in  a  state  of  perfect,  unspotted  holi- 
ness.^ How  was  it  first  found  in  a  place  where  no  unclean  thing  can  enter? 
How  came  ambition,  pride,  or  envy  to  generate  there?  Could  there  be  offence 
where  there  was  no  crime  ?  Could  untainted  purity  breed  corruption  ?  Could 
that  nature  contammate  and  infect  which  was  always  drinking  in  principles  of 
perfection* 

"  Happy  it  i^  to  me  that  writinK  the  history,  not  solving  the  diflicullics  of 
Satan's  aSairs,  is  my  province  m  this  work:  th.it  I  am  to  relate  f.at,  not  give 
reasons  f'<r  it  or  assign  causes :  if  it  w.is  otherwise,  I  should  break  off  at  this 
difficulty,  for  I  acknowledge  I  do  not  see  through  it :  neither  do  I  think  that  the 
great  Milton,  after  all  his  fine  images  and  lofty  excursions  upon  the  subject,  has 
iefl   it   one  jot   clearer  than  he  found  it."  —  History  0/  the  Devil,  p.  41.  edit. 

«777- 

t     "  A  littcl  wydo 
Therr  wn  an  holy  ch.ifpcl  cdifyde."  —  Sprnscr. 


l66  TIJE    WISUING-CAP    PAPERS. 

The  old  women  themselves  desert  him.  He  loses 
his  believers  by  wholesale  ;  is  a  very  sorry  and  poor 
devil,  and  people  quote  Burns,  and  wish  him  out  of 
his  durance.  Formerly  he  was  identified  with  em- 
perors and  archangels  ;  he  was  called  the  Prince  of 
the  Air;  he  had  all  the  spirits  of  the  terrestrial  world 
given  him  for  subjects ;  the  whole  Pagan  mythology 
was  turned  over  to  him,  and  when  gods  were  forgot- 
ten, devils  were  made  out  of  the  fairies.  He  is  now 
"  himself  alone,"  deprived  of  his  property,  like  Job, 
and  sits  amidst  the  ashes  of  his  ruin  in  shabby  misery. 
He  has  lost  even  his  power  to  joke,  which  w^as  one 
of  the  ghastliest  things  about  him.  He  no  longer 
laughs,  and  says,  ZTo/  Hoi  like  another  Henry  the 
Eighth.  He  has  nothing  to  say  it  for.  If  he  is  still 
black  as  a  coal,  with  talons  and  saucer  eyes,  he  is  also 
lean  as  a  rake  ;  no  longer  fat,  as  when  he  used  to 
have  those  delicious  dinners  with  the  old  wives,  like 
a  favored  Methodist  parson.  His  talons  are  of  no 
use  to  him  but  to  serve  him  like  Job's  ;  and  his  saucer 
eyes  now,  indeed,  for  the  first  time, 

"  Witness  huge  affliction  and  dismay," 

rolling  about  like  a  starved  owl's  in  a  trap,  who  has 
been  caught  there  at  noonday. 

Formerly  he  and  his  ministers  were  everywhere 
round  about  us,  tempting  us  to  ill,  doing  us  all  sorts 
of  mischief,  and  laughing  at  it,  and  now  and  then 
raising  storms  of  wind  and  rain,  and  thunder  and 
lightning  (which,  not  having  been  to  school,  they  did 
not  know  were  good  things  for  us).  The  powers 
granted  him  were  no  less  prodigious  than  odd.     If 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  1 67 

you  wished  anything  at  the  devil,  he  took  it.  He 
disputed  possession  of  you  with  your  good  angel  ; 
and  a  silly  old  woman,  in  whom  indigestion  con- 
founded dreamin^f  with  waking:,  and  who  went  flv- 
ing  on  the  wings  of  her  head  vapors,  had  the  power 
of  making  him  a  present  of  an  immortal  soul. 
What  is  more  extraordinary,  and  shows  us  the  dan- 
ger of  giving  an  inch  of  ground  to  assumptions  and 
things  unproved,  is,  that  old  women,  both  male 
and  female,  having  much  to  do  with  education,  they 
habituated  some  of  the  most  exalted  understandings 
to  believe  in  these  rascalities  of  superstition,  and  we 
should  infallibly  have  all  believed  in  them  to  this 
day  had  not  the  excess  of  the  demand  upon  their 
credulity  in  some  other  matters  roused  men  of  spirit 
and  genius  to  vindicate  the  invaluable  right  of  doubt- 
ing and  inquiring,  some  of  them  (Luther  for  one) 
being  all  the  while  fastened  witli  the  grossest  chains 
of  superstition  by  the  one  hand,  while  they  wrote 
against  them  triumphantlv  with  the  other.  Let  us 
be  modest  when  we  think  of  these  things,  but  do  not 
let  us  prove  our  modesty  by  adhering  to  errors  upon 
\vhich  \vc  have  been  enlightened.  Let  us  reflect, 
rather,  upon  how  many  points  we  may  still  be  mis- 
taken, and  resolve  to  carry  on  the  good  work  ol'  im- 
provement in  wiiich  those  illustrious  men  set  us  so 
noble  an  example. 

We  lay  before  our  readers  some  amusing  extracts 
from  an  old  writer,  both  serious  and  comic,  vvliich 
will  show  them  what  was  thought  of  devils  by  the 
contemporaries  of  Shakespeare.  Not  that  /le  believed 
in  any  such  nonsense,  though  he  knew  how  to  turn 


l6S  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

• 

the  poetical  parts  of  it  to  account;  and  in  matters  of 
speculation,  as  well  as  practice,  was  doubtless  the 
most  undogmatical  of  men.  He  and  the  other  great 
poets  of  that  time  were  accused  of  being  exceedingly 
sceptical,  and  there  is  evidence  in  them  to  show  that, 
in  a  proper  sense  of  the  word,  the  opinion  was  true. 
We  do  not  make  an  exception  of  old  Heywood,  who 
was  author  of  some  beautiful  simple  dramas,  and 
from  whom  the  chief  number  of  extracts  are  taken : 
for  though  a  touching  writer,  he  was  little  of  a  poet. 
He  had  great  feeling,  but  no  imagination';  and  it  is 
not  paradoxical  to  affirm,  that  if  he  had  finer  e3'es  for 
fiction,  he  would  have  seen  farther  into  truth.*  And 
so  it  is,  vice  versa,  of  the  mechanical  philosophers. 
But  to  the  passages  in  question.  The  first  is  very 
ghastly,  on  account  of  the  quiet  familiarity  of  shape 
in  which  the  alleged  devil  makes  her  entree.  This 
is  a  great  seci-et  in  horrid  stories. 

"  In  the  easterne  part  of  Russia,"  saith  Heywood, 
"  about  harvest  time,  a  spirit  was  seen  to  walk  at 
midday,  like  a  sad,  mourning  widow ;  and  whoso- 
ever she  met,  if  they  did  not  instantly  fall  on  their 
knees  to  adore  her,  they  could  not  part  with  her 
without  a  leg  or  an  arm  broken,  or  some  other  as 
great  mischiefe."  —  Hierarchic  of  Angels. 

The  chief  of  these  noon-devils,  according  to  the 
Rabbis,  is  a  very  singular  personage.  He  has  a  head 
like  that  of  a  calf,  with  a  horn  shooting  out  of  his 


*  Thomas  Heywood,  who,  says  Charles  Lamb,  in  his  Specimens  of  English 
Dramatic  Poets,  "  is  a  sort  of />roj(?  Shakespeare.  His  scenes  are  to  the  full  as 
natural  and  affecting.  But  we  miss  tlie  poet,  that  which  in  Shakespeare  always 
appears  out  and  above  the  sur.'ice  of  the  nature."  —  Ed. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  169 

forehead  ;  is  all  over  ox's  hair,  full  of  eves,  and  rolls 
along  like  a  tub.*  We  shall  take  this  opportunity  of 
observing  that,  according  to  the  Jews,  all  male  devils 
have  plenty  of  hair  on  their  heads,  while,  on  the 
contrary,  female  devils  are  bald.  This  is  the  reason, 
they  say,  why  Boaz  laid  his  hand  on  the  head  of 
Ruth.  It  was  in  order  to  assure  himself  that  he  had 
not  a  female  devil  in  his  chamber.f  \Vith  us  the 
shock  would  be  great,  but  we  should  certainly  ac- 
quit the  lady  of  enchantment.  No  Christian  would 
say,  "  Eh,  you  little  devil ! "  to  a  girl  with  a  bald 
head. 

A   STORY   OUT   OF   NIDERIUS. 

''Niderius  telleth  this  story:  In  the  borders  of 
the  kingdom  of  Bohemia  lieth  a  valley,  in  which 
divers  nights  together  was  heard  clattering  of  ar- 
mour and  clamours  of  men,  as  two  armies  had  met 
together  in  picht  battel.  Two  knights  that  inhab- 
ited near  unto  this  prodigious  place  agreed  to  arm 
themselves  and  discover  the  secrets  of  this  invisible 
army.  The  night  was  appointed,  and,  accommo- 
dated at  all  assaycs,  they  rode  to  the  place,  where 
they  might  descry  two  battels  ready  ordered  for 
present  skirmisli  ;  they  could  easily  distinguish  the 
colours  and  prevant  liveries  of  every  company  ;  but 
drawing  neerc,  the  one  (whose  courage  began  to  re- 
lent) told  the  other  that  he  had  scene  suiricient 
for  his  part,  aiul  thought  it  good  not  to  daily  with 
such  prodigies;  wherefoie,  finthcr  than  he  was,  he 
would    not  go.     The  other  called    him    coward,  and. 

*  RabbinicAl  Litonturo.,  Vol.  II.,  ^  ii3.  t  I  J.,  p.  104. 


170  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

prickt  on  towards  the  armies,  from  one  of  which  a 
horseman  came  forth,  fought  with  him,  and  cut  off 
his  head.  Atwliich  sight  the  other  fled,  and  told  the 
sight  the  next  morning.  A  great  confluence  of  people, 
searching  for  the  body,  found  it  in  one  place,  and  the 
head  in  another  ;  but  neither  could  discern  the  footing 
of  horse  or  man,  only  the  print  of  birds'  feet,  and 
tliose  in  miry  places."  —  Hierarchic  of  Angels. 

This  reminds  us  of  the  Tempter's  Feast,  in  Mil- 
ton, which  vanishes, 

"  With  sound  of  harpies'  wings  and  talons  heard."  * 

Birds'  and  goats'  feet  were  thought  to  be  unalterable 
accompaniments  of  devils,  and  rendered  the  boldest 
of  them  coy  in  their  extremities. 

The  following  illustration,  out  of  Heywood,  of 
the  promptitude  of  d"evils  to  avail  themselves  of  any 
expression  in  their  favor  is  one  of  the  best  stories 
about  them  we  ever  read.  The  reason  is,  that  it  is 
domestic,  and  touches  upon  the  aflections.  The  peril 
of  the  innocent  and  unconscious  child  in  the  hands 
of  the  swarthy  visitors,  furnishes  a  striking  picture 
of  contrast. 

THE    BLACK    DINNER. 

"  In  Silesia,  a  nobleman  having  invited  many  guests 
to  dinner,  and  prepared  a  liberal  and  costly  feast  for 
their   entertainment,   when   all    things  were  in  great 


•  Paradise  Regained,  Book  II.,  v.  403.  Warton  observes  upon  this  passage, 
"that  the  sound  of  the  wings  and  talons  is  much  finer  than  if  the  harpies  had 
been  seen,  because  the  imagination  is  left  at  work,  and  the  surprise  is  greater 
than  if  they  had  bcien  mentioned  before. "  ■ 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  I7I 

forwardness,  instead  of  his  friends  whom  he  expected, 
he  only  received  excuses  from  them  that  they  could 
not  keep  his  appointment.  Whereat  the  inviter,  being 
horribly  vexed,  broke  out  into  these  words,  saying, 
'  Since  all  these  men  have  thus  failed  me,  I  wish  that 
so  many  devils  of  hell  would  feast  with  me  to-day, 
and  eat  up  the  victuals  provided  for  them;'  and  so 
in  a  great  rage  left  the  house,  and  went  to  church, 
where  was  that  day  a  sermon  ;  his  attention  to  which 
having  tooke  away  the  greatest  part  of  his  choler, 
in  the  interim  there  arrived  at  his  house  a  great 
troupe  of  horsemen,  very  blacke,  and  of  extraordinary 
aspect  and  stature  :  who,  alighting  in  the  com-t,  called 
to  a  groome  to  take  their  horses,  and  bade  another 
servant  run  presently  to  his  master  and  tell  him  his 
guests  were  come.  The  servant,  amazed,  runneth  to 
church,  and  with  that  short  breath  and  little  sense 
he  had  left,  delivers  to  his  master  what  had  hap- 
pened. The  lord  calls  to  the  preacher,  and  desiring 
him  for  that  time  to  break  olT  his  sermon,  and  ad- 
vise him  by  his  ghostly  counsel  what  was  best  to 
doe  in  so  strict  an  exigent,  hec  persuades  him,  that 
all  his  servants  should  witli  what  speed  they  can 
depart  the  house.  In  the  mean  time,  they,  with  the 
whole  congregation,  come  within  view  of  the  man- 
sion  :  of  which  all  his  servants,  as  well  men  as  maids, 
had  with  great  allViglit  delivered  themselves,  and  for 
haste  forgotten  and  left  behind  a  young  child,  the 
nobleman's  sonne,  sleeping  in  his  cradle.  By  this 
the  devils  were  revelling  in  the  dining-chaml)cr,  mak- 
ing a  great  noise,  as  if  they  had  saluted  and  wel- 
comed   one  another  :    and  looked  through  the  case- 


172  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

ments,  one  with    tlic    lioad    of   a    bcare,    another    a 
wolfc,    a    third  a  cat,  a  fourth   a  tygre,    &c.,    filling 
bowls  and  quaffing  as    if    they  had    drunkc    to    the 
master  of   the    house.     By  this  time    the  nobleman, 
seeing  all  his  servants  safe,  began  to  remember  his 
Sonne,  and  asked  them  '  what    had  become    of  the 
child  '  ?     These  words  were   scarce  spoke,  when  one 
of  the  devils  had  him  in  his  arms,  and  shewed  him 
out  of  the  window.     The    good  man    of  the  house 
at  this  sight  being  almost  without  life,  spying  an  old 
faithful    servant   of   his,    fetched   a  deep    sighe,    and 
said,  '  O  me,  what  shall  become  of  the  infant !  '    The 
servant,  seeing  his  master  in  that  sad  extasie,  replied, 
'  Sir,  by  God's  help  I  will  enter  the  house,  and  fetch 
the  childe  out  of  the  power  of  yon   devils,  or  perish 
with  him.'     To  whom  the  master  said,  '  God  prosper 
thy    attempt,   and    strengthen    thee    in  thy   purpose.' 
Whereon,  having  taken  a  blessing  from  the  priest,  he 
enters    the    house,  and    coming  into  the  next    room 
where  the  devils  were  then  rioting,  he  fell  upon  his 
knees,  and  commended  himself  to  the  protection  of 
heaven.     Then  pressing  in  amongst  them,  he  beheld 
them     in  their  horrible    shapes,  some    sitting,    some 
walking,  some  standing.     Then  they  all  came  about 
him  at  once,  and  asked    him  what  business  he  had 
there.      He,    in  a  great  sweat    and  agonie    (yet  re- 
solved in  his  purpose),   came    to    that    spirit  which 
held  the  infant,  and  said,  'In  the  name  of  God,  de- 
liver this  child  to  mee.*     Who   answered,   '  No,   but 
let  thy  master   come  and  fetch  him,  who  hath  most 
interest  in  him.'     The  servant  replied,  '  I  am  come 
to  do  that  office  and  service  which  God  hath  called 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  l73 

me,  by  virtue  of  which,  and  by  his  power,  loe,  I 
seize  upon  the  innocent :  and  snatching  him  from  the 
divell,  took  him  in  his  arms  and  carried  him  out  of 
the  roome.  At  which  they  clamoured  and  called 
after,  '  Ho,  thou  knave,  ho,  thou  knave,  leave  the 
childe  to  us,  or  we  will  teare  thee  in  pieces.'  But 
he,  unterrified  with  their  diabolical  menaces,  brought 
away  the  infant,  and  delivered  it  safe  to  the  fiither. 
After  some  few  daies  the  spirits  left  the  house,  and 
the  lord  re-entered  into  his  antient  possession.  In 
this  discourse  is  to  be  observed,  with  what  familiaritie 
these  Familiar  Spirits  are  ready  to  come,  being  in- 
vited."—  Ilicrarchie  of  Angels. 

Chaucer  has  a  pleasant  story  to  similar  purpose, 
which  is  too  long  to  repeat:  but  we  cannot  resist 
giving  an  abstract.  A  summoncr  (a  bailiff  of  the 
ecclesiastical  court)  riding  out  on  his  vacation,  over- 
takes a  yeoman  under  the  trees,  in  a  green  cloak, 
also  on  horseback.  lie  bids  him  good-morrow,  and 
the  yeoman  asks  him  whether  he  means  to  go  far 
that  day. 

"This  sompnour  him  answered,  .in<l  said,  'Nay:  — 
Here,  fast  by,'  quoth  he,  'is  mine  intent 
To  ridcn,  for  to  raiscn  up  a  rent, 
That  longcth  t'>  my  lord  his  ducty.' 
'  Ah  I  art  thou  then  a  biiliff? '  quoth  he 
(He  durst  not,  for  very  fihh  .ind  shame, 
Say  that  he  wis  a  sompnour  for  the  name), 
'  De  fHxr  Dieux  I '  (juoth  tliis  yeoman,  '  Icvc  brother, 
Thou  art  a  b.iiliff,  and  I'm  another."  " 

The  two  horsemen  get  social,  and  the  summoncr 
asks  the  yeoman  where  he  lives,  in  ordrr  tiiat  he 
may  know  how  to  lind  him.  The  yeoman,  ''  in  soft 
speech,"    tells    him   that  he  lives  "  far  in   tlie  North 


74 


THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


Countree  "  (the  supposed  quarter  of  the  devils)  :  and 
adds,  that  he  hopes  to  see  him  there  shortly,  and 
will  give  him  such  directions  as  he  cannot  possibly 
miss. 

After  comparing  notes,  and  agreeing  that  it  is  idle 
to  have  a  conscience,  the  sompnour,  who  is  very 
curious,  requests  to  know  his  fellow's  name. 

"  I'his  yeoman  gan  a  little  for  to  smile  ; 

'  Brother,'  quoth  he,  'wilt  thou  that  I  thee  tell? 

/  am  a  fiend;  my  dwelling  is  in  hell: 

And  here  ride  I  about  my  purchasing, 

To  wot  whether  men  will  give  me  anything.'  " 

'"  Benedicite  !  "  cries  the  sompnour  ;  "  what  say 
ye.'"'  —  The  frightened  church  officer  recovers  him- 
self, and  after  some  conversation,  they  agree  to  stand 
by  one  another  in  their  callings.  The  yeoman  is  to 
take  whatever  people  give  to  him  ;  the  summoner 
what  he  can  get ;  and  if  there  is  an  overplus  on  either 
side,  they  are  to  share  it. 

They  come  into  a  town,  where  a  carman  is  swear- 
ing at  his  horses  for  not  getting  on  with  a  load  of 
hay  : 

"  Heit,  Scot !  heit,  Brock  !  what,  spare  ye  for  the  stones  ! 
The  fiend  (quoth  he-)  you  fetch,  body  and  bones: 
The  dcv'l  have  all,  both  horse,  and  cart,  and  hay." 

The  summoner  wonders  that  his  friend  does  not 
take  the  man  at  his  word,  and  seize  on  the  team  ;  but 
the  devil  tells  him  that  he  does  not  mean  what  he 
says,  as  he  will  see  presently. 

"  This  carter  thwacketh  his  horse.upon  the  croup. 
And  they  began  to  drawer  and  to  stoop, 
Heit,  now  I  (quoth  he)  there  —  Jesus  Christ  you  bless, 
And  all  his  handy  work,  both  more  and  less  I 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  1 75 

That  was  well  twitch'd,  mine  own  Hard*  boy: 
I  pray  God  save  thy  body,  and  Saint  Eloy." 

"  There,"  said  the  devil,  "  you  see  !  "  —  The  com- 
panions quit  the  town,  and  arrive  at  the  hut  of  a  poor 
widow,  against  whom  the  summoner  has  a  warrant. 
He  agrees  to  compound  the  matter,  if  she  will  give 
him  twelve  pence  (a  good  sum  in  those  days)  :  the 
poor  woman  protests  that  she  could  not  raise  such  a 
sum  in  the  whole  world:  the  summoner  gets  enraged, 
says  he  will  take  away  her  ''  new  pan,"  and  calls  her 
names  :  upon  which  the  woman  gets  angry  in  turn, 
and  wishes  him  at  the  devil. 

"  Unto  the  devil,  rough  and  black  of  hue, 
Give  I  thy  body,  and  my  pan  also. 
And  when  the  devil  heard  her  ciirsen  so 
Upon  her  knees,  he  said  in  this  mannire  : 
'  Now,  Mabily,  mine  own  mother  dear ; 
Is  this  your  will  in  earnest  that  ye  say  ?  ' 
'The  devil,'  quoth  she,  '  so  fetch  him  ere  the  day. 
And  pan  and  all,  but  he  will  him  repent.' 
'  Nay,  old  stot,  that  is  not  mine  intent,' 
Quoth  this  sonipnour,  '  for  to  repeiiten  me 
For  aiiythiiig  lliat  I  have  had  of  thee: 
I  would  I  h.id  thy  sinotk  and  every  cloth.' 
'Now,  brother,"  quoth  the  devil,  'be  not  wroth: 
Thy  body  and  this  pan  be  mine  by  right. 
Thou  shall  with  me  to  hclli  yet  to-night, 
Where  thou  shall  knowcn  of  our  privily 
More  ih.in  a  m.islur  of  divinity. ' 
And  with  that  would  the  foulc  fiend  him  bent; 
Body  and  soul  he  with  the  devil  went." 

The  devils  lonncrly  in  request  may  he  divided  iiUo 
ten  classes:  First,  the  old  Oracular  Devil,  or  Devil 
Pagan,  who  took  upon  himself  to  be  Apollo  or  Jupi- 

*  Liard,  a  oainc  for  a  gray  hone. 


1^6  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

ter,  and  is  said  to  have  occupied  the  shrines  of  those 
deities;  an  opinion  which  good  old  Plutarch  (who 
was,  in  fact,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Plutarch,  clergyman 
at  Delphos)  would  have  thought  a  blasphemy  too 
horrible  to  be  endured. 

Second,  the  Devil  Vagabond,  just  mentioned,  who 
went  about  seeking  what  he  might  devour,  from  a  sum- 
moner  down  to  a  sauce-pan.  He  has  since  turned  out 
to  be  a  common  shoplifter  or  thief;  that  is,  when  he 
taken  a  sauce-pan  ;  when  he  takes  a  summoner,  he  is 
an  apoplexy. 

Third,  the  Possessing  Devil,  or  Devil  of  the  Exorcist, 
who  was  fond  of  inhabiting  people's  bodies,  and  made 
himself  famous  among  the  nuns.  This  turned  out  to 
be  the  chaplain. 

Fourth,  the  Amatory  Devil,  or  Incubus,  who  par- 
took of  the  natm-e  of  the  second,  and  who,  according 
to  Chaucer,  had  disappeared  in  his  time,  being  dis- 
placed by  the  Friar ;  at  which  period  perhaps  the 
word  Incubus  was  first  rendered  Incumbent.  He  is 
still  clerical  sometimes,  but  oftener  a  layman;  and 
may  be  seen  haunting  milliners'  apprentices  down  Re- 
gent Street,  in  the  likeness  of  a  foolish  youth  ;  or 
standing  at  a  tavern  door,  sly  and  stupid,  eying  the  wo- 
men's ankles  as  they  pass.  He  is  also  the  Nightmare. 
Fifth,  the  Devil  Grim,  or  General  Devil,  wdio  ap- 
peared in  a  proper  diabolical  shape,  or  was  at  least 
black  and  swarthy,  and  often  went  in  a  company,  as 
may  be  seen  in  the  story  of  the  Black  Dinner.  He 
has  totally  disappeared. 

Sixth,  the  House  Devil,  or  Devil  Pranksome,  with 
whom  the  Faiiics  were  confounded.     He  was  a  minor 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  I 


// 


kind  of  class  the  second,  and  contented  himself  with 
knocking  and  making  a  noise,  displacing  furniture,  and 
making  tlic  good  people  '•  knowe  not  what  to  think." 
He  has  heen  discovered  to  be  a  maid-servant. 

Seventh,  the  Wavside,  or  Out-of-Door  Devil,  also 
confounded  with  Fairies.  He  was  a  kind  of  Satyr.  — 
"  They  sit,"  quoth  Burton,  "  by  the  highway  side,  to 
give  men  falls,  and  make  their  horses  stumble  and 
start  as  they  ride  (if  vou  will  believe  the  relation  of 
that  holy  man  Kclcllus,  in  Nubrigensis,  that  had  an 

especial  grace  to  see  ddvils) If  a   man   curse 

or  spur  his  horse  for  stumbling,  they  do  heartily  re- 
joice at  it;  with  many  such  pretty  feats."* 

Eighth,  the  Necromancer's  or  Astrologer's  Devil, 
who  came  up  when  he  was  called  by  art;  explained 
the  mvstcvies  of  the  universe  ;  was  a  great  statesman  ; 
and  promised  riches  and  power.  Some  of  his  tribe 
(to  use  the  libellous  language  of  those  days)  were 
":  mighty  Dukes"  and  "  Princes,"  having  brute  heads, 
and  riding  on  horseback. f 

Ninth,  the  Attendant  Devil,  or  Familiar,  who  was 
of  various  degrees  of  rank,  from  the  accomplished 
imps  that  wailed  on  Faustus  and  Agrippa,  down  to 
the  cat  of  the  old  crone.  See  Goethe's  and  Marlowe's 
tragedies,  and  The  Witch  of  Middleton. 


•  An.itomy  of  Mclnticho!y,  Part  I.,  Section  2. 

t  Sec  Kcj;inaUl  Scol'»  Discovery  of  Witchcraft,  p.  219. 

"  Tlv.-ir  firM  nnJ  principal  king  (whicli  is  of  tliu  power  of  the  East)  is  called 
Batll ;  who,  when  he  i» conjured  up,  .-i|>pcarclh  with  tlircc  heads;  the  fii&t  like  a 
toad,  the  bcciind  like  .1  man,  the  ihird  like  a  cat  :  he  speaUcUi  with  a  hoarse  voice. 
He  inakcth  a  man  to  go  inviiible:  he  luih  under  his  obedience  and  rule  kixly  and 
six  lepioM*  of  devil*. 

"The  6nt  duke  under  ihc  power  of  the   East  it  named  Agara      Mo  comcth 

12 


178  THE    WISIIING-CAP    PAPERS. 

Tenth  and  last,  the  Devil  Proper,  or  devil  himself, 
the  Apollyon  of  John  Bunyan.  He  was  "  the  black 
man  "  of  the  nursery  and  the  coal-hole  ;  and  used  to 
be  called  upon  to  take  away  cliildren  or  swallow  them 
up.*  To  his  friends  the  witches,  he  used  to  appear 
either  as  a  satyr  or  sort  of  clergyman,  in  black  clothes, 
very  reverend,  dressed  at  it  were  for  the  evening. 
But  his  proper  establishment  consisted  of  a  tail  with 
a  sting  to  it,  '•  horns  on  his  head,  fire  in  his  mouth, 
eyes  like  a  bason,  fangs  like  a  dog,  claws  like  a  bear, 
a  skin  like  a  nigger^  and  a  voice  roaring  like  a  lion  ; 
whereby  (quoth  Reginald  Scot),  we  start  and  are 
afraid  when  we  hear  one  cry  Bough."  f  A  face- 
tious churchman,  being  asked  why  the  devil  took  such 


up  mildly  in  the  likeness  of  a  fair  old  man  "  (there  is  something  striking  in  this) 
"  riding  upon  a  crocodile,  and  carrying  a  hawk  on  his  fist.  He  has  under  him 
thirty-one  legions. 

"  Vale/er,  alias  Malepliar,  is  a  strong  duke,  conielh  forth  in  the  shape  of  a  lion 
and  the  head  of  a  thief.  He  is  very  famili.irwith  them  to  whom  he  maketh  him- 
self acquainted,  till  he  hath  brought  them  to  the  gallows ;  he  ruleth  ten  legions. 

"  Furfur  IS,  a  great  earl,  appearing  as  an  Hart  with  a  fiery  tail.  He  lieth  in 
everything. 

"  Furcas  is  a  knight,  and  Cometh  fortli  in  the  similitude  of  a  cruel  man,  with 
a  long  beard  and  hoary  head.     He  sitteth  on  a  pale  horse.  . 

"  Gamigin  is  a  great  marquess,  and  is  seen  in  the  form  of  a  little  horse. 

"  Another  marquess  is  a  liar  and  horse-stealer.  '  Zepar,  a  great  duke,'  makes 
women  incontinent  and  barren.  Berith\s  a  'great  and  a  terrible  duke,'  and 
'also  a  liar.'  " 

•  According  to  the  author  of  Malleus  Maleficarum,  and  "  the  residue  of  that 
crew,"  says  Scot,  in  speaking  of  the  etymology  of  the  word  devil,  "ZJ/a  is  D7w 
and  Bolus  is  Morr.ellus ;  whereby  they  gather,  that  the  devil  eateth  up  a  man, 
body  and  soul,  at  two  morsels."  — A  Discourse  concerning  Devils  and  Spirits, 
Book  I.,  Chapter  32. 

t  Discovery  of  Witchcraft,  page  85.  ["From  him  who  had  not  lost  all  his 
original  brightness,  to  this  dirty  fellow  who  leaves  a  stench,  sometimes  of  brim- 
stone, behind  him,  the  descent  is  a  long  one,"  says  Lowell,  in  the  learned 
paper  on  Witchcraft,  in  Among  My  Books.  —  Ed.] 


ESSAYS    ANU    SKETCHES.  1 79 

a  Strange  liking  to  old  women,  quoted  a  passage, 
in  which  it  had  been  said  of  him,  that  he  '"  loved  to 
walk  in  dry  places."  *  Another  wag,  undertaking  to 
show  the  people  the  devil  himself,  "  to  tlie  satisfac- 
tion," as  Swift  terms  it,  "  of  the  beholders,"  held  out  to 
them  an  etnpty  -purse  I  A  solider  account  of  him  has 
never  been  given.  An  Italian  poet  makes  mention 
of  a  devil  who  dwelt  in  the  smoke  of  roast  meat,  f 


•  "That  the  prince  ofthe  powers  of  darkness,  passing  by  the  flower  and  pomp  of 
the  earth,  should  lay  preposterous  siege  to  the  weak  fantasy  of  indigent  eld  —  has 
neither  likelihood  nor  unlikelihood,  «  priori  to  us,  who  have  no  measure  to  guess 
at  his  policy,  or  standard  to  estimate  what  rate  those  anile  souls  may  fetch  in  the 
devil's  market."  —  Charles  Lamb.  —  En. 

t  Berni,   Orlando  Innamorato,  Canto  51,  st.  49.      For  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
devils  and  all  that  has  been  said  of  thorn,  tlie  curious  reader  may  consult  Glan- 
villeon  Witches,  Wicrus,  De  Prcestigiis  Dtvntonutn,  Stehelin's  Rabbinical  Liter- 
ature, the  Lives  of  t'.-.e  Saints,  and  above  all,  Reginald  Scot's  Discovery  of  Witch- 
craft, the  title  of  which  ought  to  be  given  at  large  to  do  honor  10  the  writer  who 
could  produce  such  a  work  at  a  period  so  early:   for  it  was  printed  in  1584.      But 
the  sapient  Scotch  monarch  had  not  then  come  to  England  to  encourage  people  to 
be  as  sottish   and  half-witted  as  himself     Scot's  book  is  entitled   "The  Dis- 
covery of  Witchcraft,  — proving  that  the  compacts  and  contracts  of  witches  with 
devils  and  all  infernal  spirits  or  familiars  are  but  erroneous  novelties  and  imagi- 
nary conceptions,  &c.     Wherein  likewise  the  unchristian  practices  and  inhumane 
dealings  of  searchers  and  witch-tryers,  upon  aged,  me'iancholy,  and  superstitious 
people,    in  extorting  ci5hfes-.ions  by  terrors  and  tortures,  and  iii   devising  false 
mark',  and  symptoms  are  notably  detected  :  and   the  knavery  of  jugglers,  con- 
jurers, charmers  soothsayers,  figure-casters,  &c.,  fully  opened  and  decypherjd  ; 
all  which  are  very  nccs  .ary  to  be  known  for  the  undeceiving  of  judges,  justices, 
and  jurors,  before  they  [..ass  sentence  upon  poor  miserable  and  ignorant  people  : 
who  arc  frequently  consigned,  condemned,  and  executed  for  witches  and  wizards." 
It  was  avowedly  to  ci.nlutc  these   "damnable  opinions,"  as  he  calls  them,  that 
King  James  wrote  liis  DtmoHohgic     Reginald  Scot  was  a  learned  and  spirited 
English  gentleman,  one  ol  the  mo:t  worthy  of  that  title  that  ever  existed,  and 
ought  to  be  held   in  c'.trnal  hon<.r  by  those  who  feel  interested   in  the  cause  of 
human. ty.    Think  of  .iking  putt  n;  forth  the  •.irciiRih  of  his  authority  amidst  bow- 
mg  courtiers  andchurthnicn,  in  order  to  retain  a  superstition  by  which  it  has  been 
calculated  that  twinty  ttunnand ptopli  v/ert  burnt  in  Uucoursf  o/ont  hundrtd 
and  fifty  yiart ;  and  thrn  ngurc  to  yoursc'f  this  g.illaiit  Ensli'sh  gentleman  (whose 
book  it  is  said  was  burnt  by  il;c  hangm.in)  disdaining  in  secret  these  attempts  of 


I  So  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

Before  the  devil's  existence  was  denied,  people  be- 
gan to  perceive  that  considerable  doubts  miglit  be 
entertained  as  to  the  extent  of  his  operations,  and 
how  far  King  James  and  others  had  a  right  to  palm 
upon  him  the  olTcnces  of  their  *' corrupted  flesh."* 
We  speak  in  courts  of  law  of  criminals  being  "  moved 
and  instigated  by  the  devil ;  "  but  nobody  but  a  Meth- 
odist doubts  nowadays  that  the  real  instigators  are 
folly  and  bad  education,  or  poverty,  or  disease.  The 
sight  of  injustice  is  also  a  great  instigation.  Whit- 
field, in  his  Life,  attributes  his  aberrations  from  virtue 
to  the  dc\il ;  who  watched  for  him,  he  said,  and  "■  took 
his  usual  advantage  :  "  —  upon  which  Bishop  Laving- 
ton  observes,  that  the  man  was  only  excusing  himself 
at  the  devil's  expense,  and  that  Satan  had  reason  to 
complain,  and  to  look  upon  himself  as  an  ill  used 
gentleman.     To  be  serious  ;  —  w  hy  should  we  set  up 


the  royal  diive'lcr,  nnd  looking  forward  to  a  time  when  his  book  wouM  be  quoted 
in  favor  of  common  sense  and  feeline,  and  with  the  gratitude  ol  posterity.  We 
should  take  care  to  bear  thi;  n.unes  of  such  men  in  golden  preservation  ;  for  it  is 
Eometimcs  the  lot  of  the  most  precious  labors  to  become  obsolete  and  unrcmem- 
bered  by  reason  of  the  very  good  they  have  done  us.  We  are  too  apt  to  fancy,  that 
what  is  a  commonplace  to  us,  was  the  same  to  our  benefactors. 

*  Dem07io!ogie,  Bonk  III.,  Chapter  2.  The  Kiiig  says,  ihat  those  v\ho  deny  the 
power  of  a  devil,  would  likewise  deny  the  power  of  God,  if  they  could  for  shame  ; 
that  is  to  say,  those  who  deny  the  existence  of  the  worst  contradiction  to  good, 
must  deny  ihe  i;ower  of  the  good  itself;  for  such  is  really  his  argument.  ''  Since 
a  divel,"  he  says,  "is  tlie  very  contrarie  opposite  to  God,  there  cm  be  no  better 
way  to  know  God,  than  by  the  contrarie,  as  by  the  one's  power  (ihough  a  creature) 
to  admire  the  power  of  the  great  Creator,  by  the  falsehood  of  the  one  to  consider 
the  truth  of  the  other;  by  the  injustice  of  one  to  consider  the  justice  of  the  other: 
andby  thecrue'ty  ofthc  one,  to  consider  the  mercifulness  of  theoth^r:  and  so 
forth  in  all  the  rest  of  the  essence  of  God,  and  qualities  of  the  Divell."  —  Id., 
Dook  II.,  Chapter  7.  Whit  a  contempt  must  Scot  have  felt  for  such  logic  as 
ihij  1  There  is  one  point  founded  upon  it  that  misht  have  been  granted  to  the 
king;  viz..  that  by  reading  his  book  you  may  know  by  contraries  what  a  book 
Oiighiiobe. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  iSl 

an  imaginary  malignant  being  to  warn  our  mistakes 
and  our  anger  with  ;  to  learn  how  to  hate  and  perse- 
cute in  behalf  of  the  very  doctrines  that  protest  against 
hatred  and  persecution  ;  and  to  endanger  a  confusion 
in  all  our  notions  of  justice,  benevolence,  and  com- 
mon sense?  Sterne,  in  his  Tristram  Shandy,  has 
copied  a  form  of  excommunication  once  in  use  against 
thieves  and  malefactors,  and  by  which  their  eyes, 
limbs,  and  every  particle  of  them,  body  and  soul,  were 
damned  forever  and  ever  in  the  name  of  all  that  was 
held  sacred  and  good.*  Dr.  Slop  was  employed  to 
read  it  out  loud  ;  Uncle  Toby  whistled  lillibullero  all 
tl:e  while  in  ecstasy  of  astonishment ;  observing  at  one 


♦  A  tran'lat!on  is  to  be  found  in  Scot,  who  proceeds  to  make  the  fo.lowing  re- 
mark: "This  t?rriblc  curs^  wiih  BjU.  Book,  and  Candle,  added  ihorciinto, 
must  need  work  wo.iders:  howbe'.t,  among  thieves  it  is  nut  much  weighed,  among 
wise  and  true  men  it  is  not  well  .iked,  lo  them  that  are  robbed  it  bringcth  small 
relief:  the  priest's  stomich  miy  \vA.  be  cased,  but  the  goods  stolen  will  never 
the  sooner  be  restored.  Hcrul.y  is  bewrayed  both  the  malice  and  fol'y  of  Popish 
Doitrin.',  who5c  uncharitable  impiety  is  so  impudently  published,  and  in  such 
order  uttered,  as  every  s-ntcncc  (if  opportunity  served)  might  he  proved  both 
heretical  and  diabolical.  But  I  will  answer  this  cruel  answer  with  .another  cure 
far  more  milJ  .".nd  civil,  rcrform;d  by  as  honest  a  man  as  he  th.u  made  the 
other,  whereof  mention  was  lately  made. 

"So  it  was  that  a  certain  Sir  John,  with  some  of  his  company,  once  went 
abroad  a  jetting,  and  in  a  moonlight  evening  robb'd  a  miller's  weir,  and  stole  all 
his  eeU.  The  poor  miller  made  his  moan  to  Sir  John  himself,  who  willed  him  to 
b«  quiet:  for  he  would  so  cuisc  the  ihicf  and  all  his  confederates,  with  Bell,  Book, 
and  CandV,  that  they  should  have  small  joy  of  their  fish.  And  therclore  the 
ni-xt  Sunday  Sir  John  got  h  m  into  the  pulpit,  with  surplice  on  his  back  and  his 
stole  about  his  neck,  and  pronoiniccd  ih'.sc  following  in  the  audience  of  the 
people :  — 

■■  All  vou  Ih.il  stole  the  miller's  Eelfcs, 
Ltudtle  Dominunt  dc  Coelis  ; 
.And  all  ih  .7  that  consented  thereto, 
Bcncdicamus  Domino. 

"  Lo,  (saith  he*  there  \\  »-'Uce  f'lr  your  ccici,  my  m.istcr  " 


lS2  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

passage,  "  our  armies  swore  terribly  in  Flanders,  but 
nothing  to  this  :  —  for  my  own  part  I  could  not  bear 
to  treat  and  curse  my  dogs  so  !  "  Dr.  Slop  continues  : 
"  May  St.  John  the  Precursor,  and  St.  John  the  Bap- 
tist, and  St.  Peter,  and  St.  Paul,  and  St.  Andrew,  and 
all  other  Christ's  Apostles,  curse  him.  May  the  holy 
and  worshipfid  company  of  martyrs  and  confessors, 
who  by  their  holy  works  are  found  pleasing  to  God 
Almightv,  curse  him.  May  the  holy  choir  of  the 
Holy  Virgin  damn  him.  May  all  the  saints  who 
from  the  beginning  of  the  world  and  everlasting  ages 
are  found  to  be  beloved  of  God,  damn  him.  May  he 
be  damned  wherever  he  be,  whether  in  the  house  or 
stables,  the  garden  or  the  field,  or  the  highway,  or 
in  the  path,  or  in  the  wood,  or  in  the  water,  or  in  the 
church.  Mav  he  be  cursed  in  living,  in  dying. 
May  he  be  cursed  in  all  the  faculties  of  his  body.  May 
he  be  cursed  inwardly  and  outwardly.  May  he  be 
cursed  in  the  hair  of  his  head.  May  he  be  cursed  in 
his  brains,  and  in  his  vertex."  (That  is  a  sad  curse, 
quoth  my  father.)  '•  In  his  temples  and  in  his  fore- 
head,—  in  his  ears,  in  his  eyebrows,  in  his  eyes,  in 
his  cheeks,  in  his  jaw-bones,  in  his  nostrils,  in  his 
arms,   in   his  hands,  in  his  fingers. 

'•  May  he  be  damned  in  his  mouth,  in  his  breast,  in 
his  heart  and  purtenance  !  down  to  the  very  stomach. 

"  ]May  he  be  cursed  in  all  the  joints  and  articula- 
tions of  his  members,  from  the  top  of  his  head  to  the 
sole  of  his  foot.     May  there  be  no  soundness  in  him. 

"  May  the  Son  of  the  living  God,  with  all  the  glory 
of  his  majesty"  —  (here  my  Uncle  Toby,  throwing 
back  his  head,  gave  a  monstrous  long,  loud  whew  — 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  I  S3 

w — xy,  something  betwixt  the  inteijectional  whistle 
of  hey-dav"!  and  the  word  itself)  — ''curse  him,"  con- 
tinued Dr.  Slop,  "  and  may  Heaven,  with  all  the  pow- 
ers which  move  therein,  rise  up  against  him,  curse 
and  damn  him,  unless  he  repent,  and  make  satisfac- 
tion.    Amen.     So  be  it,  —  so  be  it.     Amen." 

"  I  declare,"  quoth  my  Uncle  Toby,  "  my  heart 
would  not  let  me  curse  the  devil  himself  with  so  much 
bitterness."  "■  He  is  the  father  of  curses,"  j-eplied 
Dr.  Slop.  ''  So  am  not  I,"  replied  my  uncle.  "  But 
he  is  cursed,  and  damned  already,  to  all  eternity,"  re- 
plied Dr.  Slop. 

"  I  am  SORRY  FOR  IT,"   quoth  my  Uncle  Toby. 

"  Dr.  Slop  drew  up  his  mouth,  and  was  just  begin- 
ning to  return  my  Uncle  Toby  the  compliment  of  his 
ivhu  —  -do  —  -w^  or  interjcctional  whistle,  when  the 
door  hastily  opening  in  the  next  chapter  but  one  — 
put  an  end  to  the  aOair."  —  Tristram  Shandy,  Book 
III.,  Chap.  xi. 

But  the  alVair  was  not  put  an  end  to.  It  has  flour- 
ished, and  brought  forth  good  fruit.  When  people 
were  led  tocon^5ider  that  Jews  had  organs  and  dimen- 
sions like  themselves,  they  first  began  not  to  loathe 
them,  then  liiey  pitied  them,  and  at  last  they  did 
thein  justice.  A  similar  process  (jf  reflection  took 
place  in  behalf  of  birds  and  beasts  :  it  was  discovered 
that  horses  and  dogs  had  limbs  to  be  hurt,  as  well  as 
ourselves;  and  it  is  now  doubted  by  some  whether 
we  ought  to  shut  in  a  cage  a  winged  animal,  whose 
region  is  the  air.  (By  and  by  wc  shall  begin  to  have 
commiseration  for  fish,  and  anglers  will  cease  to  think 
themselves  the    humanest  of   men.)     At   length    llie 


184  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

devil  himself  was  done  justice  to;  and  noble-hearted 
Burns  fiualh'  wished  him  out  of  his  coal-hole.     So 

'■  Fnre  you  well,  nuld  Nickie-ben  I 
O  wad  ye  t.ik  a  thought  and  men'  1 
Yo  r.ibliiis  might —  I  dinna  ken  — 

Still  liae  a  stake  — 
I'm  wae  to  think  upo'  yon  den. 
Even  lor  your  sake  !  " 
1830. 


A   FEW   WORDS   ON   ANGELS. 

AS  we  have  said  so  much  about  Devils,  we 
thought  we  could  not  complete  these  super- 
natural discussions  better,  nor  leave  ofl"  with  a  pleas- 
anter  "  taste  in  the  mouth,"  than  by  adding  what  we 
know  of  Angels.  We  hope  it  will  prove  like  a 
dessert  after  the  *'  hot  dishes." 

Angel  comes  from  the  Greek  word  Aggelos  (pi"o- 
nounced  Angclos),  and  signifies  a  messenger.  Mer- 
cury in  Hesiod  is  called  the  Angel  of  Jupiter.  Any 
messenger,  literally  speaking,  is  an  angel.  A  ticket- 
porter  might  write  on  his  card,  "'  Thomas  Jones, 
Angel."  A  beautiful  woman,  coming  to  us  with 
an  errand  of  peace  or  joy,  is  literally,  as  well  as 
metaphorically,  an  angel.  But  in  modern  language 
(and  herein  we  deske  to  speak  with  a  seriousness  be- 
coming the  idea  of ''the  sweet  and  loving  angels," 
as  Luther  calls  them  *)  the  word  signifies  one  of  the 
multitudes  of  those  winged  spirits,  who,  according 
to  the  Jews  and  Christians,  enjoy  the  beatitude  of  the 

»  Table-Talk. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  185 

divine  presence,  are  eternally  glorifying  it  with  h^'mns 
and  harpings,  and  are  occasionally  despatched  to  us 
on  messages  or  with  aid.  Luther  is  of  opinion,  that 
while  occupied  in  heaven,  they  are,  nevertheless, 
fighting  for  us  on  earth  ;  "  for,"  says  he,  in  his  home- 
ly way,  and  with  that  vein  of  familiarity  in  his  re- 
spect, which  docs  not  diminish  the  real  reverence  of 
enthusiasm,  '■'■  the  angels  have  long  arms."  *  But  it 
has  been  the  general  opinion  of  the  churches,  that 
eveiy  man  has  a  guardian  angel  assigned  him, 
who  helps  him  in  his  ways,  encourages  his  virtues, 
and  supplies  proper  trouble  on  occasion  to  turn 
him  from  his  vice.  This  is  the  Good  Demon  of  the 
Platonists  ;  nor  is  it  possible  to  make  inquiry  into  the 
nature  of  the  one  spirit  without  hearing  of  the  other. 
Nothing  is  here  meant  to  be  insinuated  against  the 
existence  of  myriads  of  heavenly  creatures.     We  have 


•  "  And  is  there  care  in  heaven?    And  is  there  love 
In  heavenly  spirits  to  these  creatures  base, 
Th.it  may  compassion  of  their  evils  move? 
There  is :  —  cNc  much  more  wretched  were  the  cace 
Of  men  tlien  bcasis  :  But  O  !  tli'  exceeding  grace 
Of  Highest  God  that  loves  his  clotures  so, 
And  all  his  workcs  with  mercy  dolh  embrace. 
That  blessed  Angels  he  sends  to  and  fro,         ' 
To  serve  to  wicked  man,  to  serve  his  wicked  foe  ! 

"  How  oft  (\o  they  their  silver  bowers  leave 

'I'o  come  to  succour  us  that  succour  want  I 

How  oft  do  they  with  golden  pincoiis  cleave 

The  flitting  hkyes,  like  dying  pursuivant. 

Against  luwlc  fcendes  to  ayd  us  militant  ! 

They  for  u<  fi^ht,  they  watch  and  dcwly  ward. 

And  their  bright  squadrons  round  about  us  plant : 

And  all  for  love  and  nothing  for  rcw.ird: 
O,  why  should  Heavenly  God  to  men  have  such  regard?  " 

So  Spenser  beautifully  sings  in  The  Faerie  Queen'*,  Cook  II.,  Canto  viii.  —  Ed. 


l86  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

the  same  hope  of  their  existence  as  we  have  of 
thousands  of  other  things,  good  and  lovely,  and  the 
same  tendency  to  disbelieve  in  their  useless  oppo- 
nents. But  the  most  orthodox  believers  may,  accord- 
ing to  the  divines,  be  too  anxious  and  too  peremptory 
on  these  points ;  and  therefore  we  shall  not  follow 
them  in  their  flights  with  St.  Dionysius,  who  pretended 
to  draw  up  a  peerage  of  the  angelic  noblesse.  We 
shall  not  venture  to  say  with  the  great  poet  (who,  after 
all,  made  a  bad  business  of  it),  — 

"  Into  the  heaven  of  heaven  I  have  presumed 
An  earthly  guest  ;  " 

neither  shall  we  discuss  with  the  churchmen  whether 
angels  have  or  have  not  bodies ;  whether  they  are 
always  exercising  their  understandings  ;  how  long  it 
would  take  them  to  come  down  from  the  eighth  heav- 
en, reckoning  at  the  rate  of  a  thousand  miles  an 
hour  ;  or  how  many  of  them  could  dance  on  the  point 
of  a  needle  without  jostling.  A  Jesuit,  of  the  name 
of  La  Cerda,  informs  us  that  a  single  angel  whirls  the 
heavens,  and  all  the  orbs  about  with  it,  at  the  rate  of 
26,000  German  miles  an  hour.*  We  cannot  take  his 
word  for  it ;  and,  indeed,  the  greater  and  more  angel- 
ical the  hopes  of  mankind  become,  the  less  will  they 
take  people's  words  for  anything,  a  dogma  by  its 
essence  containing  the  principles  of  falsehood,  which 
is  the  reason  why  so  many  fine  ones  come  to  nothing, 
and  endanger  the  virtues  they  pretend  to  support. f 


*  De  Excelhntia  SpirUiiufn  Coelesiium,  Cap.  2. 

t  1  he  learned  reader  need  not  be  informed  that  the  word  ajigel,  like  a  great 
many  other  words  in  Scripture,  is  capable  0/  having  other  interpretations  put 
upon  it  than  that  of  a  winged  messenger  from  above.  See  a  work  entitled  the 
Oriental  Missionary. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  1 87 

Yet,  on  reflection,  we  give  a  list  of  the  alleged 
hierarchy  of  angels,  and  of  some  of  their  names. 
The  poets,  having  made  use  of  them,  have  rendered 
them  a  warrantable  part  of  fiction  ;  and  there  is  a 
music  in  the  sound.  Milton,  in  the  addresses  of  Sa- 
tan, does  not  observe  the  due  order  of  the  hierarchy, 
which  stands  as  follows  :  — 

The  Seraphim.   .   .    who  excel  in  love. 

Cherubim knowledge. 

Thrones superiority  to  sin,  and  in  influence 

upon  those  below  them. 

Dominations freedom  of  service  and  the  regula- 
tion of  the  divine  glory. 

\iRTves      execution  of  the  divine  will. 

Powers subjection  of  evil  spirits. 

PRiNCiPALiTiEsare  the  .   .   .    chief  governors  of  the  divine  mes- 
sengers. 

Archangels chief  messengers. 

Angels messengers. 

These  are  the  "  trinal  triplicities  "  of  which  Spenser 
talks  ;  the  whole  hierarchy  consisting  of  three  classes, 
and  every  class  of  three  sections.  Upon  the  subject 
of  their  employment  round  the  "throne"  of  the  di- 
vine being,  we  would  rather  not  dwell  ;  our  respect 
for  the  mystery  of  the  Deity  being  too  great,  and  not 
choosing  to  degrade  it  even  to  the  heights  of  poct-y. 
We  m:iy  remark,  however,  that  the  placing  Seraphim 
before  Cherubim,  —  or  love  before  knowledge,  —  can 
hardly  be  thought  unwortliy  of  anything  divine,  and 
is  a  fine  moral.  The  distinction  of  olhces  and  facul- 
ties in  these  lists  of  angels  is,  it  must  be  confessed, 
not  alwavs  very  distinct.     It  is  not  so  in  the  one  be- 


1 88  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

fore  us  ;  and  they  difler  in  various  authors.*  Of  the 
names  of  angels,  the  following  comprise  the  most 
received  and  the  most  musical.  There  are  four  cele- 
brated archangels  :  — 

Michael,    who  is  said  to  preside  over  the  East  Wind,  and  the 
Nations  in  that  quarter. 

Raphael the  West. 

Gabriel the  North. 

Uriel • the  South. 

Whether  by  accident  or  system,  this  assignment  of 
quarters  is  very  suitable  to  tlie  characters  given  to  the 
respective  archangels,  Michael  being  the  fierce  and 
more  dictatorial  virtue,  Raphael  "  the  aflable  arch- 
angel," and  Uriel  the  angel  of  the  sun.  It  has  been 
observed,  on  a  similar  ground,  that  the  names  of  the 
two  princes  of  painting,  Raphael  and  Michael  An- 
gelo  (the  most  visible  angels  ever  possessed  by  the 
Romish  Church,  and  very  lucky  ones  for  her)  were 
singularly  expressive  of  their  different  qualities,  as 
well  as  of  the  rank  they  held  in  their  paradise.  Co- 
relli's  name   of   Arcangelo   was    a    like    felicity ;    no 


*  See  Heywood's  Hierarchic  of  Angels ;  a  Treatise  of  Angels,  by  John 
Salkeld,  London,  1613  ;  a  Theological  Discourse  of  .\nge's  and  their  Ministries, 
by  Benjamin  Camfield,  &c.  ;  and  for  matters  relative  to  angels  in  general,  consult 
also  La  Cerda,  before  mentioned,  and  a  work  entitled  Rabbinical  Literature,  by 
the  Rev.  J.  P.  Stehelin,  in  two  vols.,  Svo.,  1748.  La  Cerda  contains  a  number 
of  celestial  anecdotes ;  and  Mr.  Stchelin's  work  is  a  curious  compilation  of 
tilings  fantastic,  but,  upon  the  whole,  showing  a  kindliness  of  imagination  which 
Christians  would  hardly  expect  from  Jews,  and  which  they  would  be  more  Chris- 
tian in  some  points  if  they  would  imitate.  The  Jews,  for  instance,  like  our  sect 
of  L^niversalists,  believe  that  the  devils  themselves  may  be  saved.  There  is 
one  very  grand  notion  in  this  book.  The  Jews  believe  that  there  are  three  voices 
constantly  going  through  the  world,  unheard  of  mortal  ears:  the  Voice  of  the 
globe  0/  tlie  sun,  the  Voice  0/  the  soul  deparlitig-  from  the  body,  and  the  Voice 
of  the  nmmtjtring  0/  Rome.  This  is  the  most  magnificent  idea  of  the  Roman 
capital  ever  conceived. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  1S9 

musician,  except  Handel,  touching  forth  a  more  an- 
geHcal  note  than  he  did,  with  his  air-drawn  bow. 
Handel,  in  addition  to  this,  fairly  sets  the  angels  float- 
ing, with  his  wafting  symphonies ;  and,  when  he  con- 
cludes, you  lose  their  feet  in  heaven.  Let  the  reader 
allow  me  to  mention  in  this  place,  as  no  unsuitable 
one,  the  divine  air  of  "  Waft  her,  angels,"  and  the 
still  diviner  one,  "  There  were  shepherds  abiding 
in  the  fields,"  with  its  Raphaelesque  recitative. 
Nothing  can  be  simpler,  more  touching,  more  sin- 
cere. You  are  conscious  of  tlie  innocent  shepherds 
keeping  their  flocks  in  the  cool  night.  Their  very 
looks  are  painted  in  the  artless  notes,  and  the  angels 
speak  to  them  in  a  few  others,  equally  simple  and 
beautiful. 

Other  names  of  angels  :  — 


HamabieL 

Malon. 

Oplianiel. 

Ambricl. 

Malthidiel. 

Arcan. 

Zamicl. 

Jercmiel. 

Zuriel,  and 

Varchiel. 

Ariel.         •• 

Muriel. 

Jurabatres. 

"  is  a   1 

termination,  denoting 

G. 

3d. 

Thus,  Uriel 

signifies  the  Light  of  God  ;  Raphael,  the  Medicine  of 
God,  —  the  Celestial  Healer.  These  and  other  angels 
were  supposed  to  preside  over  the  zodiac,  the  planets, 
the  element*,  &c.,  and  indeed  over  everything  that 
could  be  presided  over,  down  to  a  weed  in  the  grass. 
The  Rabbis  were  of  opinion  that  they  made  tliem- 
selves  bodies  to  appear  in,  out  of  the  snow  under  the 
Throne  of  Glory  ;  and  tliat  if  they  were  absent  from 
heaven  seven  days  in  succession  they  were  unable  to 
return. 


190  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  speak  of  the  Fallen  Angels 
or  of  their  "  Loves."  It  is  much  easier  to  conceive  a 
loving  than  a  fiillen  angel ;  but  our  present  object  is 
to  describe  the  happy  w^inged  spirit,  as  he  appears  to 
the  eye  of  innocence  and  imagination.  Infants,  when 
they  smile  without  an  apparent  cause,  are  supposed 
to  see  angels.*  It  is  these  whose  faces  we  would 
behold. 

Our  guesses  as  to  the  nature  of  any  being  may  be 
unlimited  ;  but  we  can  paint  images  of  him  only  from 
what  we  know,  and  hence  we  draw  happy  spirits  in 
the  happiest  human  shape. 

"To  whom  the  angel  with  a  smile  tliat  glowed 
Celestial  rosy  red,  love's  proper  hue."  —  Milton. 

"  Her  angel  face 
As  the  great  eye  of  heaven  shined  bright, 
And  made  a  sunshine  in  the  shady  place."  —  Spenser. 

"  Occhi  avea  neri,  e  chioma  crespa  d'oro. 
Angel  parea  di  quei  del  somrao  coro."  — Ariosto. 

"  Black  eyes  he  had,  and  sunny  curls  of  hair ; 
He  seem'd  an  angel,  newly  from  the  air." 

Ariosto's  heroine,  who  is  a  personification  of  Beau- 
ty, is  named  Angelica.  So  we  call  a  beautiful  boy  a 
cherub  ;  and  though  sophisticate  ladies  may  find 
fault  with  being  called  angels,  and  not  think  it  very 
sincere,  it  is  still  one  of  the  best  and  most  natural 
appellations  which  the  rapture  of  love  can  bestow 
on  beauty  and  goodness. 


*  "Some,"  says  delightful  old  Thomas  Fuller,  "admiring  what  motives  to 
mirth  infants  meet  with  in  their  silent  and  solitary  smiles,  have  resolved  (how 
truly  I  know  not)  that  then  they  converse  with  angels,  as  indeed  such  cannot 
amongst  mortals  find  any  fitter  companions. "  —  Epistle  Dedicatory  to  A  Pisgah- 
Sight  of  Palestine.  —  En. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  I9I 

Our  fi-iend  the  Jesuit,  above  quoted,  makes  mention 
indeed  of  old  angels.  He  describes  one,  who  ap- 
peared to  the  mother  of  St.  Eucherius,  and  who 
told  her  that  she  was  about  to  be  brought  to  bed  of 
an  archbishop.*  This  venerable  anticipation  looks 
as  much  like  an  old  angel  as  anything  well  can  ;  but 
still  we  cannot  fancy  an  elderly  seraph,  or  a  cherub 
of  two-and-sixty.  Jesuits  are  famous  for  having  odd 
notions  of  things  divine.  They  are  celebrated  in  par- 
ticular for  not  understanding  the  exact  limits  of  what 
may  be  feigned  and  what  not :  and  accordingly,  in 
our  friend's  book  we  have  a  story  of  an  angel,  who 
imposed  himself  upon  a  farmer  for  one  of  his  plough- 
men, in  order  that  the  latter  might  cultivate  his  love 
of  the  truth  at  chapel. f  Yet  in  the  same  book  we 
have  an  account  of  another  pious  person,  who,  being 
extremely  addicted  to  angels  (''  addlctissitnus  aii- 
g-elis")^  would  never  tell  a  lie,  not  even  to  save  his 
life  ;  that  is  to  say,  would  not  do  what  the  angels 
would.  Tiie  best  story  in  La  Cerda  is  one  which 
Massingcr  made  the  ground  of  his  Virgin  Martyr. 
An  extract  or  two  from  the  tragedy  we  keep  for  the 
conclusion  of  this  article,  as  the  best  part  of  it,  and 
as  boys  keep  the  sunny  side  of  their  apple  for  the  last 
relish.  The  angel  proper,  as  the  heralds  would  call 
him,  is  neither  old  nor  false,  but  young,  l)eautiful, 
ingenuous,  rosy  bright,  with  wings,  and  a  white  vest. 
La  Cerda  gives  us  to  understand  (and  here  he  is  inno- 
cent enough)  that  he  is  "  sometimes  clothed  hi  bkie, 
rarely  in  purple."      Some   of  the    poets  have  made     , 

*  L  i  Cerda,  Cap.  43  ♦  La  Cerda,  Cap.  a. 


192  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

his  wings  to  be  put  on  and  ofT  at  pleasure,  and  many 
have  painted  them  as  of  gorgeous  color. 

"Of  silver  wings  ho  took  a  shining  pair, 
Fringed  with  gold,  unweaiied,  nimble,  swift."  —  Fairfax's  Tasso. 

Cowley,  in  the  Davideis,  is  still  more  particular  to 
this  point,  but  the  passage  is  in  his  worst  style,  and 
therefore  must  not  be  quoted.  It  is  doubtful  whether 
the  word  ivore  in  the  following  passage  of  Milton 
does  not  imply  the  same  thing.  Sjocaking  of  Ra- 
phael, when  he  came  down  on  his  message  to  Adam, 
he  savs,  — 

"  Six  wings  he  ■ware,  to  shade 
His  lineaments  divine  :  the  pair  tliat  clad 
Each  shoulder  broad,  came  mantling  o'er  his  breast 
With  regal  ornament ;  the  middle  pair 
Girt,  like  a  starry  zone,  his  waist ;  and  round, 
Skirted  his  loins  and  thighs  with  downy  gold, 
And  colours  dipt  in  heaven :  the  third  his  feet 
Sliadowed  from  cither  heel  with  feather'd  mail, 
Sky-tiuctnr'd  grain.     Like  Maia's  son  he  stood. 
And  shook  his  plumes,  that  heavenly  fragrance  filled 
The  circuit  wide."  — Par.  Lost,  Book  V. 

Which  last  image  is  taken  from  a  beautiful  couplet  of 
Fairfax,  never  to  be  too  often  repeated  :  — 

"  On  Lebanon  at  first  his  foot  he  set, 
And  shook  his  wings  with  rosy  may-dews  wet." 

Again,  in  the  passage  where  Milton  describes  Satan 
in  the  likeness  of  a  cherub  :  — 

"And  now  a  stripling  cherub  he  appears 
Not  of  ihe  prime,  yet  sucli  as  in  his  face 
Youth  smiled  celestial,  and  to  every  limb 
Suitable  grace  diffused,  so  well  he  feigned. 
Under  a  coronet,  his  flowing  hair 
In  curls  on  cither  cheek  play'd  ;  wings  he  wore 
Of  many  a  coloured  plume,  sprinkled  with  gold ; 
His  habit  fit  for  speed  succinct,  aud  held 
Be  ore  his  decent  steps  a  silver  wand." 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  193 

This  description  has  been  much  admired  ;  and  indeed 
Milton  cannot  dilate  into  any  description  in  which 
something  admirable  is  not  to  be  found.  In  gor- 
geousness  of  color  his  angels  are  not  to  be  surpassed  ; 
yet  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  there  is  something 
too  princely,  and  conscious,  and  full-dressed :  not 
native  enough  to  the  sweetness  and  simplicity  of 
heaven.  They  do  not  announce  themselves  so  much 
by  the  delightfulncss  of  their  presence  as  the  dazzling 
of  it,  which  is  surclv  the  inferior  thing.  It  is  doubt- 
ful whether  Raphael  has  not  too  much  bird-coating; 
and  there  is  something  in  the  "  silver  wand  "  which 
the  youthful  Cherub  bears  before  him,  which,  to  our 
minds,  is  positively  poor  and  in  the  way.  Milton 
seems  to  have  had  a  regard  for  a  stick.  He  has  given 
one  to  Satan  to  support  his  uneasy  steps  over  the 
burning  soil  of  Hell ;  and  here  he  gives  him  another 
in  heaven  to  look  becoming  with.  Princes  in  those 
times  walked  with  a  stick, —  perhaps  the  i:)oct  him- 
self did ;  and  he  has,  unquestionably  shown  more 
regard  for  the  kingly  character  in  heaven  tiian  he  did 
on  earth.  His  angelic  notions  are  full  of  "•  regal 
ornament,"  of  "  coronets,"  and  kingly  state. 

"  He.  kingly,  from  his  state 
Inclined  not" 

says  he,  speaking  of  Michael.  IJut  they  have  worse 
moral  failures  than  these.  To  say  nothing  of  the 
contradictions  into  which  his  story  comi)clled  him  ; 
and  to  sinii  up  in  one  sjiecimcn  all  the  faults  to  wiiich 
polemics  had  rendered  his  divinity  liable,  what  are 
we  to  think  of  his  making  his  angels  guilty  of  posi- 
tive, gratuitous  malignity.''  Satan,  travelling  towards 
•3 


19  f  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

earth,  comes  to  a  sea  of  jasper,  on  which  is  a  stair- 
case which  descended  from  heaven. 

"  The  stairs  were  then  let  down,  whether  to  dare 
The  fiend  by  easy  ascent,  or  aggravate 
His  sad exdtision. from  the  doors  of  bliss." 

Book  III.,  V.  553. 

This  is  a  piece  of  malignity  more  worthy  of  hell  than 
heaven  ;  if,  indeed,  hell  could  be  imagined  capable 
of  at  once  being  in  a  state  of  bliss  and  desirous  of 
giving  sorrow.  In  fact,  this  is  the  most  infernal  pas- 
sage in  Paradise  Lost.  Luckily,  it  is  mere  talking: 
no  being  could  be  guilty  of  a  mockery  so  inhuman  ;  for 
there  is,  in  reality,  no  such  thing  as  malignity  for  its 
own  sake.  The  most  wilful  inflictors  of  suffering  are 
themselves  in  a  state  of  suffering,  which  they  think  to 
alleviate  by  thrusting  a  part  of  it  on  others  ;  and  an- 
gels, having  no  suHering  at  all,  would  be  the  only 
true  devils,  if  they  would  act  as  the  poet's  slip  of  the 
pen  has  here  made  them. 

There  is  a  pretty  passage  of  an  angel  in  Spenser; 
and  there  the  heavenly  creature  is  at  his  proper  work  : 
he  is  doing  good.  The  poet  has  given  him  pied 
wings  like  a  jay,  which  is  perhaps  not  so  well.  They 
would  better  have  suited  a  Cupid.  But  the  picture 
is  in  his  happiest  manner.  It  is  attended  with  those 
circumstances  of  verisimilitude  which  make  the  most 
supernatural  things  appear  natural.  On  turning  to 
the  passage,  I  find  that  Spenser  has  compared  his 
angel  to  Cupid,  and  this  too  in  a  stanza  which  is  the 
more  displaced  by  reason  of  the  very  perfection  of  its 
paganism.  It  is  as  if  Poussin  had  lumped  together 
a  Scripture  piece  and  a  Bacchanal.     A  pilgrim  finds 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  195 

Giiyon  sleeping  in  "  a  shady  delve,"  and  somebody 
sitting  by  him. 

"  Beside  his  head  there  salt  a  faire  young  man, 
Of  wondrous  beauty  and  of  freshest  ycares, 
Whose  tender  bud  to  blossorae  new  began, 
And  flourish  faire,  above  his  equall  peares  ; 
His  snowy  front,  curled  with  golden  heares. 
Like  PhcEbus'  face  adorned  with  sunny  rayes, 
Divinely  shone  ;  and  two  sharpe  winged  sheares, 
Decked  with  divers  plumes  like  painted  jayes, 

Were  fixed  at  his  back,  to  cut  his  ayery  wayes." 

FaerU  Queen,  Book  II.,  Canto  8. 

There  are  the  wings  of  Titian's  Cupid,  in  the  picture 
where  his  mother  is  blinding  him.  Perhaps  it  was  a 
consciousness  to  that  efiect  which  led  the  poet  into 
his  comparison.  We  omit  the  latter  as  unsuitable  ; 
but  we  must  not  omit  what  follows.  The  stranger 
delivers  up  his  charge  to  the  pilgrim  ;  and  then,  says 
the  poet,  — 

"  Eftsoones  he  gan  display 
His  painted  nimble  wings,  and  vanisht  quite  away. 
The  palmer  seeing  his  left  empty  place, 
And  his  slow  cies  beguiled  of  their  sight, 
Waxe  sore  affraid,  and  standing  still  a  space 
Gaz'd  after  him,  as  fowlc  escapt  by  flight." 

Where  the  "  blessed  bird "  goes  to  (as  Dante  calls 
him),  we  do  not  presume  to  say  ;  nor  what  he  does 
when  he  has  ended  his  journey. 

"  What  know  wc  of  the  blest  above 
But  that  ihey  sing,  and  that  they  love  ?" 

says  Waller.  To  say  we  know  it,  is  to  say  a  Hltlc 
too  mucli ;  but  to  imagine  it  is  reasonable  enough, 
considering  that  singing  and  loving  (provided  they 
be  genuine  of  their  sort)  are  two  of  the  highest  pleas- 
ures on  earth,  and    may  be   fancied   to    touch    upon 


196  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

heaven.  Milton  has  said  some  fine  things  about  the 
loves  of  angels,  to  which  wc  content  ourselves  vvitli 
referring  the  reader.  Taken  out  of  their  context,  and 
of  that  "  celestial  colloquy  sublime,"  we  might  do 
them  an  injustice.  The  angel,  in  this  article  of  ours, 
may  be  said  to  become  our  property,  as  soon  as  we 
can  descry  him  with  earthly  eyes,  and  no  sooner ;  or 
we  may  fancy  we  hear  before  we  see  him. 

"  And  now  'lis  like  all  instruments, 
Now  like  a  lonely  flute  ; 
And  now  it  is  angel's  song, 

That  bids  the  heavens  be  mute." 

Coleridge's  Ancient  Mariner. 

We  must  humanize  everything  before  we  can  love  it. 
To  fancy  an  angel  rising  in  the  east  like  a  star,  is 
making  him  too  potent  and  gigantic.  He  must  come 
near  to  us,  and  in  our  own  shape  ;  must  be  guarding 
innocence  or  consoling  adversity,  or  suggesting  wis- 
dom and  sweeter  thoughts  to  those  who  fimcy  them- 
selves wicked,  or  conversing  with  the  glad  eyes  and 
inarticulate  raptures  of  infancy ;  for  infants,  when 
smiling  and  babbling  to  themselves,  are  supposed  to 
be  talking  with  angels.  Even  those  beautiful  gorgeous 
wings,  in  which  he  is  invested  by  the  poets,  hardly 
seem  to  be  an  apparel  in  which  he  is  to  stay  with  us. 
They  are  for  a  sudden  vision,  a  stoop  out  of  the  lus- 
tre of  heaven.  It  is  remarkable  that  the  painters 
have  never  given  colored  wings  to  their  angels.  The 
temptation  would  seem  to  be  great,  —  the  palette  looks 
like  a  wing  ready  made,  —  and  yet  they  have  not 
given  way  to  it.  No  :  the  angel  is  the  angel  of  one's 
infancy,  the  blooming  white-vested  boy  with  the  spot- 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  I97 

less  wings  ;  and  thus  is  he  painted  by  the  Guidos  and 
Corregirios. 

We  think  we  see  him  now,  looking  out  of  one  of 
their  divine  pictures,  young,  blooming,  innocent,  nat- 
ural as  unconscious  perfection,  beautiful  as  truth.  He 
is  a  boy  on  a  noble  scale,  but  still  human  ;  and  his 
large  curls  are  tawny  with  the  noons  of  Paradise. 

An  angel  is  the  chorister  of  heaven,  the  page  of 
martyrdom,  the  messenger  from  the  home  of  moth- 
ers. He  comes  to  tiie  tears  of  the  patient,  and  is  in 
the  blush  of  a  noble  anger.  He  kisses  the  hand  that 
gives  an  alms.  He  talks  to  parents  of  their  departed 
children,  and  smooths  the  pillow  of  sickness,  and 
supports  the  check  of  the  prisoner  against  the  wall, 
and  is  the  knowledge  and  comfort  which  a  heart  has 
of  itself  when  nobody  else  knows  it,  and  is  the  play- 
fellow of  hope,  and  the  lark  of  aspiration,  and  the 
lily  in  the  dusk  of  adversity.  All  this  we  believe 
him,  even  should  we  hold  his  appearance  to  be  a 
fable,  and  though  we  deny  the  letter  of  a  thousand 
things  out  of  which  we  would  extricate  the  spirit; 
for  wherever  there  is  goodness  and  imagination,  there 
of  necessity  arc  thoughts  angelical,  winged  indestruc- 
tible hopes.  The  dryest  line  of  the  geometer,  if  lie 
knew  all,  were  a  wand  of  as  much  wonder  as  Pros- 
pero's ;  or  if  it  were  not  .so,  Prospero's  it^^elf  were 
none,  and  oin-  most  exalted  aspirations  would  still  be 
as  warrantable  as  the  earth  we  touch.  If  anything 
unwise  could  be  unpardonable,  the  only  fault  not  to 
l)e  forgiven  were  dogmatism  ;  and  yet  where  could 
an  angelical  th'»ught  exist,  and  forgiveness  not  be 
discovered  ? 


I9S 


THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


We  conclude  with  the  lovely  scene  out  of  Massin- 
ger.  Drayton  gives  us  to  understand  tbat  angels 
converse  in  poetry.  We  know  not  how  that  may  be  ; 
but  if  ever  a  blooming,  angelical  boy  was  visible  in  a 
book,  and  talked  on  paper,  it  is  here, 

Angelo,  an  Angel,  attends  Dorothea  as  a  Page.      Angelo,  Dorothea. 

The  time  midnight. 

Dor.     My  buok  and  taper. 

Ang.   Here,  most  holy  mistress. 

Dor.    Thy  voice  sends  forth  such  music,  that  I  never 

Was  ravish'd  with  a  more  celestial  sound. 

Were  every  servant  in  the  world  like  thee, 

So  full  of  goodness,  angels  would  come  down 

To  dwell  with  us  :  thy  name  is  A  7tgelo, 

And  like  that  name  thou  art.     Get  thee  to  rest : 

Thy  youth  with  too  much  watching  is  opprest. 
Aug.   No,  my  dear  lady.     I  could  weary  stars. 

And  force  the  wakeful  moon  to  loose  her  eyes, 

By  my  late  watching  but  to  wait  on  you. 

When  at  your  pray'rs  you  kneel  before  the  altar, 

Methinks  I'm  singing  with  some  quire  in  heaven. 

So  blest  1  hold  me  in  your  company. 

Therefore,  my  most  loved  mistress,  do  not  bid 

Your  boy,  so  serviceable,  to  get  hence  ; 

For  then  you  break  his  heart. 
Dor.    Be  nigh  me  still,  then. 

In  golden  letters  down  I'll  set  that  day. 

Which  gave  thee  to  me.     Little  did  I  hope 

To  meet  such  worlds  of  comfort  in  thyself. 

This  little,  pretty  body,  when  I,  coming 

Forth  of  the  Temple,  heard  my  beggar-boy, 

My  sweet-fac'd  godly  beggar-boy,  crave  an  alms. 

Which  with  glad  hand  I  gave,  with  lucky  hand  ; 

And  when  I  took  thee  home,  my  most  chaste  bosom 

Methought  w.as  filled  with  no  hot  wanton  fire. 

But  with  a  holy  flame,  mounting  since  higher, 

On  wings  of  cheriibims,  than  it  did  before. 
Ang.  Proud  am  I  that  my  lady's  modest  eye 

So  likes  so  poor  a  servant. 
Dor.   I  have  offer'd 

Handfuls  of  gold  but  to  behold  thy  parents. 

I  would  leave  kingdoms,  were  I  queen  of  some, 

To  dwell  with  thy  good  father ;  for  the  son 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  I99 

Bewitching  me  so  deeply  with  his  presence, 
He  that  begot  him  must  do't  ten  timos  more. 
I  pray  t'.iee,  ray  sweet  boy,  show  me  thy  parents ; 
Be  not  ashamed. 

A  ng    I  am  not :  I  did  never 

Know  wlio  my  mother  was ;  but  by  yon  palace. 

Filled  with  bright  heav'nly  courtiers,  I  dare  assure  you. 

And  pawn  these  eyes  upon  i;,  and  this  hand. 

My  father  is  in  heav'n  ;  and,  pretty  mistress, 

If  your  i'lustrlous  hour-glass  spend  his  sand 

No  worse  than  yet  it  doth,  upon  my  life, 

You  and  I  both  shall  meet  my  father  there. 

And  he  shall  bid  you  welcome. 

Dor.    A  bless'd  day  !  * 

We  had  a  great  mind  to  conclude  with  this  scene, 
but  there  is  anotiicr  in  the  same  phiy  wliicli  presents 
us  with  so  beautiful  a  picture  of  the  angel,  —  some- 
what between  the  gorgcousncss  of  the  poets  in  gen- 
eral and  tiie  simplicity  of  the  painters,  —  that  we 
cannot  resist  copying  it.  Thcophilus,  the  persecutor, 
who  has  been  the  cause  of  the  martyrdom  of  Doro- 
thea, and  who  is  converted  and  becomes  a  martyr 
himself,  is  soliloquizing  u]ion  the  torture  he  will  wreak 
upon  those  who  diOcr  with  him,  when  Angclo  comes 
in  with  a  basket  of  fruit  and  flowers.  The  Rcjman 
does  not  see  him  at  first,  and  so  continues  talking. 


•  "Thii  scene,"  says  an  excellent  critic,  "h.ts  beauties  of  so  high  an  order, 
that  t,\\\\  all  mv  respect  for  Masoingcr,  I  did  nut  think  he  liad  poetical  cnthusia<:ni 
capable  of  furnisliins  them.  Hit  associate.  Decker,  who  wrote  Old  Fortunntus, 
had  poetry  enough  for  anything.  The  very  iinpur. tics  which  obtrude  themselves 
among  the  sweet  pieties  of  this  play  (like  Salan  among  the  sons  of  heaven),  and 
wliich  tlic  brief  scope  of  my  plan  fortunat-.-ly  enables  mc  to  leave  out,  have  a 
stren'.;lh  of  contrast,  a  r.tcincss  and  a  g'.ow  in  them,  which  arc  above  Malinger. 
7l<ey  set  off  the  religion  of  the  rest,  somehow,  as  Caliban  serves  to  show  Mi- 
randa."—  Sptcimtut  0/  English  Dr.imalU  I'octs,  by  Charles  Lamb. 

'J  hu.<i  it  is  that  fine  natures  know  how  to  turn  fugitive  or  imaginary  evil  to 
account,  instead  of  thinking  thcmsclve'i  cillcd  upon  lo  show  ihit  thev  cannot 
think  too  much  evil  alioiit  it  ;  a>  some  critics  have  do.ie,  who  n  it  wcr':  .1  \tO'lt 
thing  to  name  in  so  sweet  a  place. 


?00  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

Theoph.  This  Christian  slut  was  well, 

A  pretty  one  :  but  let  such  horror  follow 
The  next  I  feed  with  torments,  that  when  Rome 
Shall  hear  it,  her  foundation  at  the  round 
May  feel  an  earthquake.     How  now  I  [Music. 

Ati^,  Are  you  amazed,  sir? 

So  great  a  Roman  spirit,  and  doth  it  tremble? 
TJieoph.  How  cam'st  thou  in  ?    To  whom 
Thy  business  ? 

A  ns-  To  you  : 

I  had  a  mistress,  late  sent  hence  by  you 
Upon  a  bloody  errand  ;  you  entreated, 
That  when  she  came  in  to  that  blessed  garden 
Whither  she  knew  she  went,  and  where  now  happy. 
She  feeds  upon  all  joy,  she  would  send  to  you 
Some  of  that  garden  fruit,  and  flowers  ;  which  here. 
To  have  her  promise  saved,  are  brought  by  me. 
Tluoph.  Cannot  I  see  this  garden  ? 

Ang.  Yes,  if  the  master 

Will  give  you  entrance.  \He  vanis!uth. 

Theoph.  'Tis  a  tempting  fruit  — 

And  the  most  bright-cheeked  child  I  ever  viewed,  — 
Sweet  smelling,  goodly  fruit.     What  flowers  are  these  ? 
In  Dioclesian's  gardens  the  most  beauteous. 
Compared  with  these,  are  weeds:  is  it  not  February, 
The  second  day  she  died?  frost,  ice,  and  snow, 
Hang  on  the  beard  of  winter  :  where's  the  sun 
That  gilds  the  summer?     Pretty,  sweet  boy,  say. 
In  what  country  shall  a  man  find  this  garden  ? 
My  delicate  boy,  .—  gone  !  vanished  !    Within  there, 
Julianus  I  Geta  ! 

Enter  Julianus  and  Geta. 

Both.  My  lord. 
T}teoph.  Are  my  gates  shut  ? 

Geta.  And  guarded. 
Tluoph.   Saw  you  not  a  boy  ? 

Jul.  Where? 
Theoph.  Here  he  entered ;  a  young  lad  ; 

A  thousand  blessings  danced  upon  his  eyes, 
A  smooth-faced,  glorious  thing,  that  brought  this  basket. 
Geta.  No,  sir  ? 
Theoph.  Away  —  but  be  in  reach,  if  my  voice  calls  you. 

[^Exeunt. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  20I 

We  need  not  point  out  to  our  readers  the  "  bright- 
cheeked  child,"  tlie  "  smooth-faced  glorious  thing," 
that  brings  a  basket,  —  a  thousand  blessings  dancing 
upon  his  eyes ;  —  but  we  notice  the  words  that  we 
may  enjoy  them  in  their  company.  —  And  so  with  this 
perfect  taste  of  the  angel  and  his  Eden  fruit,  we  con- 
clude. 1S30. 


CHILD-BED. 


A      PROSE      POEM. 


AND  is  child-bed  among  the  graces,  with  its 
close  room,  and  its  unwilling  or  idle  visitors, 
and  its  jesting  nurse  (the  old  and  indecent  stranger), 
and  its  unmotherly,  and  unwifcly,  and  unlovely  lam- 
entations? Is  pain  so  unpleasant  thi't  love  cannot 
reconcile  it ;  and  can  pleasures  be  repeated  without 
shame,  which  aie  regretted  with  hostile  cries  and  re- 
sentment ! 

No.  But  child-bed  is  among  the  graces,  with  tiie 
handsome  quiet  of  its  preparation,  and  the  smooth 
pillow  sustaining  emotion,  and  the  soft  steps  of  love 
and  respect,  and  the  room  in  which  the  breath  of  the 
universe  is  gratefully  permitted  to  enter,  and  mild 
and  venerable  aid,  antl  the  physician  (the  urbane  se- 
curity), and  the  living  treasure  containing  treasure 
about  to  live,  who  looks  in  the  eyes  of  him  that  caused 
it  and  seeks  energy  in  the  giappling  of  his  hand,  and 
hides  her  face  in  the  pillow  that  she  may  save  him  a 


202  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

pain  by  stifling  a  greater.  Tiierc  is  a  tear  for  what 
may  have  been  done  wrong,  ever ;  .and  for  what  may 
never  be  to  be  mutually  pardoned  again  ;  but  it  is 
gone,  for  what  needs  it?  Angelical  are  their  whis- 
pers apart;  and  Pleasure  meets  Pain  the  seraph,  and 
knows  itself  to  be  noble  in  the  smiling  testimony  of 
his  severity. 

It  was  on  a  May  evening,  in  a  cottage  flovvering 
with  the  green-gage,  in  the  time  of  hyacinths  and 
new  hopes,  when  the  hand  that  wrote  this,  took  the 
hand  that  had  nine  times  lain  thin  and  delicate  on 
the  bed  of  a  mother's  endurance  ;  and  he  kissed  it, 
like  a  bride's.  1837-1837. 


ROUSSEAU'S   PYGMALION. 

WE  are  not  aware  that  this  piece  of  Rousseau's 
has  hitherto  appeared  in  English.  It  is  a 
favorite  in  France,  and  very  naturally  so,  on  all  ac- 
counts. To  our  countrymen  there  will  perhaps  ap- 
pear to  be  something,  in  parts  of  it,  too  declamatory 
and  full  of  ejac'ulation  ;  and  it  must  be  confessed, 
that  if  the  story  alone  is  to  be  considered,  the  illus- 
trious author  has  committed  one  great  fault,  which 
was  hardly  to  be  expected  of  him  ;  and  that  is,  tliat 
he  has  not  made  the  sentiment  sufficiently  promi- 
nent. The  original  story,  though  spoiled  by  the  rake 
Ovid,  informs  us,  that  Pygmalion,  with  all  his  warmth 
towards  the  sex,  was  so  disgusted  at  the  manners  of 
his  countrywomen,  that  instead  of  going  any  longer 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  20, 


J 


into  their  society,  he  preferred  making  images,  in 
his  own  mind,  and  with  his  chisel,  of  what  a  wo- 
man ought  to  be  ;  informing  her  loolcs,  of  course, 
with  sentiment  and  kindness,  as  well  as  with  the 
more  ordinary  attractions.  It  appears  to  us,  there- 
fore, that  instead  of  making  him  fall  in  love,  almost 
out  of  vanity,  as  Rousseau  has  done,  it  might  have 
been  better,  in  the  abstract  point  of  view  above  men- 
tioned, to  represent  him  fashioning  the  likeness  of 
a  creature  after  his  own  heart,  lying  and  looking  at 
it  with  a  yearning  wish  tliat  he  could  have  met  with 
such  a  living  being,  and  at  last,  while  indulging  his 
imagination  with  talking  to  her,  making  him  lay  his 
hand  upon  hers,  and  finding  it  warm.  The  rest  is, 
in  every  respect,  exquisitely  managed  by  Rousseau. 
But  now  we  must  observe,  that  while  the  charge  of 
a  certain  prevailing  air  of  insincerity  over  the  French 
stvle  in  these  matters  appears  just  in  most  instances, 
a  greater  confidence  is  to  be  ]:)ut  in  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  Genevese  ;  for  he  was  a  kind  of  Pygmalion 
himself,  disgusted  with  the  world,  and  perpetually, 
yet  hopelessly,  endeavoring  to  realize  the  dreams  of 
his  imagination.  This,  after  all,  is  perhaps  the  most 
touching  tiling  in  his  performance.  IVgmalion's  self 
predominates  over  tlie  idea  of  his  mistress,  because 
the  author's  self  pressed  upon  him  while  he  wrote. 
The  only  actual  difierencc  between  the  fabulous  soli- 
tary and  the  real  one  was,  unfortunately,  that  Pyg- 
malion seems  to  have  been  willing  cnougli  to  be 
contented,  had  he  found  a  mistress  that  deserved 
him  ;  whereas  Rousseau,  when  he  was  really  beloved, 
and  even  thought  himself  so,  was  yiuc  to  be  midc 


204  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

the  ruin  of  his  own  comfort;  partly  by  a  distrustful 
morbidity  of  temperament,  and  partly,  perhaps,  by  a 
fastidious  metaphysical  subtilty,  which  turned  his  eye 
with  a  painful  sharpness  upon  the  defects  instead  of 
humanities  of  his  fellow-creatures,  and  made  the  in- 
dividual answer  for  the  whole  mass. 

The  scene  represents  a  sculptor's  work-shop,  in 
which  are  several  blocks  of  marble,  sculptured  groups, 
and  sketches  of  statues.  In  the  midst  of  these  is  an- 
other statue,  concealed  under  a  drapery  of  a  light  and 
shining  stuff,  ornamented  with  fringes  and  garlands. 

Pygmalion  is  sitting,  supporting  his  head  with  his 
hand,  in  the  attitude  of  a  man  who  is  uneasy  and 
melancholy.  On  a  sudden  he  rises  ;  and  taking  one 
of  his  tools  from  a  table,  gives  some  strokes  of  the 
chisel  to  several  of  the  sketches  ;  then  turns  from  them, 
and  looks  about  him  with  an  air  of  discontent. 

Pygmalion.  There  is  neither  life  nor  soul  in  it ;  it 
is  but  a  mere  stone.  I  shall  never  do  anything  with 
all  this. 

O,  my  genius,  where  art  thou  }  What  has  become 
of  thee?  All  my  fire  is  extinguished,  my  imagina- 
tion is  frozen  ;  the  marble  comes  cold  from  my  hands. 

Make  no  more  gods,  Pygmalion  ;  you  are  but  a 
common  artist  —  ye  vile  instruments,  no  longer  in- 
struments of  my  glory,  ye  shall  dishonor  my  hands  no 
more. 

(He  throws  away  his  tools  with  disdain,  and  walks 
about  with  his  arms  crossed,  as  in  meditation.) 

What  am  I  become.^  What  strange  revolution  has 
taken  place  in  me.''  —  Tyre,  proud  and  opulent  city, 
your  illustrious  monuments  of  art  no  longer  attract  me. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  205 

I  have  lost  my  taste  for  them.  All  intercourse  with 
artists  and  philosophers  has  become  insipid  to  me  : 
the  society  of  painters  and  poets  has  no  attraction  for 
me;  praise  and  renown  have  ceased  to  elevate  me ; 
the  approbation  of  posterity  has  no  interest  for  me ; 
even  friendship  has  to  me  lost  all  her  charms. 

And  you,  young  masterpieces  of  nature,  whom  my- 
art  has  presumed  to  imitate,  you,  in  whose  train  the 
pleasures  ever  led  me,  you,  my  cliarming  models, 
who  consumed  me  at  once  with  the  flame  of  love  and 
genius,  —  since  I  have  surpassed  you,  3'ou  are  all  be- 
come indifferent  to  me. 

(He  seats  himself,  and  contemplates  the  figures 
around  him.) 

Detained  in  this  room  by  an  inconceivable  charm,  I 
know  not  what  to  do  here,  and  yet  I  cannot  leave  it. 
I  wander  from  group  to  group,  from  figure  to  figure, 
my  weak  and  uncertain  chisel  no  longer  acknowledg- 
ing its  master.  These  rude  sketches  are  left  un- 
touched by  tlic  hand  which  should  have  given  them 
life  and  beauty  — 

(He  rises  impetuously.) 

It  is  over,  it  is  over :  I  liave  lost  my  genius !  So 
young — and  yet  I  iiavc  survived  it! 

And  what,  then,  is  this  internal  ardor  which  con- 
sumes me?  What  is  this  fire  which  devours  me.-* 
Why,  in  the  languor  of  extinguished  genius,  should  I 
feel  these  emotions,  these  bursts  of  impetuous  passion, 
this  insurmouiitalile  restlessness,  this  secret  agitation 
wiiicii  torments  me.''  I  know  not ;  I  fear  the  admi- 
ration of  my  own  work  has  been  the  cause  of  this 
distraction  .•    I   have  concealed    it    under  this  veil  — 


2o6  THE   WISHING-CAP   PAPERS. 

my  profane  liands  have  ventured  to  cover  this  mon- 
ument of  their  glory.  Since  I  have  ceased  to  behold 
it,  I  have  become  more  melancholy  and  absent.  How 
dear,  how  precious,  this  immortal  work  will  be  to 
me!  If  my  exhausted  mind  shall  never  more  pro- 
duce anything-  grand,  beautiful,  worthy  of  me,  I  will 
point  to  my  Galatea,  and  say,  "  There  is  my  work." 
O  my  Galatea  !  when  I  shall  have  lost  all  else,  do 
thou  alone   remain  to  me,  and  I  shall  be  consoled. 

(He  approaches  the  veiled  statue ;  draws  back ; 
goes,  comes ;  stops  sometimes  to  look  at  it,  and 
sighs.) 

But  why  conceal  it.?  What  do  I  gain  by  that? 
Reduced  to  idleness,  why  refuse  myself  the  pleasure 
of  contemplating  the  finest  of  my  works.''  Perhaps 
there  may  yet  be  some  defect  which  I  have  not  per- 
ceived ;  perhaps  I  might  yet  add  some  ornament  to 
the  drapery :  no  imaginable  grace  should  be  want- 
ing to  so  charming  an  object.  Perhaps  the  contem- 
plation of  this  figure  may  re-animate  my  languish- 
ing imagination.  I  must  see  her  again  ;  I  must  ex- 
amine my  work.  What  do  I  say?  Yes;  I  have 
never  yet  examined  it ;  hitherto  I  have  only  admired 
her. 

(He  goes  to  raise  the  veil,  and  lets  it  fall,  as  if 
alarmed.) 

I  know  not  what  emotion  seizes  me  when  I  touch 
this  veil. 

I  feel  a  tremor,  as  though  I  were  touching  the 
sanctuary  of  some  divinity.  —  Pygmalion,  it  is  but  a 
stone;  it  is  thine  own  work  —  what  can  it  mean? 
In  our  temples,  they  serve  gods  made  of  the  same 
material,  and  formed  by  the  same  hand  as  this. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  207 

(He  raises  the  veil  trembling,  and  prostrates  him- 
self before  the  statue  of  Galatea,  which  is  seen  placed 
on  a  pedestal,  raised  by  semicircular  steps  of  marble.) 

O  Galatea  !  receive  my  homtige.  I  have  deceived 
myself.  I  thought  to  make  you  a  nymph,  and  I 
have  made  you  a  goddess.  Even  Venus  herself  is 
less  beautiful. 

O  vanity,  human  weakness!  I  am  never  weary 
of  admiring  my  own  work ;  I  am  intoxicated  with 
self-love  ;  I  adore  myself  in  that  which  I  have  made. 

—  No,  never  was  there  anything  in  nature  so  beau- 
tiful ;  I  have  surpassed  the  work  of  the  Gods.  — 
What !  so  many  beauties  formed  by  my  hands  ;  my 
hands  then  have  touched  tliem  ;  my  mouth  has  —  I 
see  a  defect.  This  drapery  too  much  conceals  it. 
I  must  slope  it  away  more;  the  charms  which  it 
shades  should  be  more  displayed. 

(He  takes  his  mallet  and  chisel,  and  advancing 
slowly,  begins  with  much  hesitation  to  ascend  the 
steps  towards  the  statne,  whicli,  it  seems,  he  dares 
not  touch.     He  raises  the  chisel,  —  he  stops.) 

What  is  this  trouble  —  this  trembling?  I  hold 
the  chisel  with  a  feel;le  hand  —  I  cannot  —  I  tlare  nnt 

—  I  shall  spoil  everything. 

(He  endeavors  to  conquer  his  trouble,  and  at  hist, 
raising  the  chisel  again,  makes  one  stroke,  and  lets 
it  fall,  witli  a   luud   cry.) 

Gods!  I  feel  the  quivering  flesh  repel  the  chisel! 

(He  descends,  tremhhng  and  confused.) 

—  Vain  terror,  bhnd  f<jlly  !  —  No  —  I  will  not  touch 
her  —  the*  Gods  allVight  me.  Doubtless  she  is  al- 
ready deified. 


2o8  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

(He  contemplates  her  again.) 

What  would  you  change,  Pygmalion  ?  Look  !  what 
new  charms  can  you  give  her.?  Alas  !  her  only  fault 
is  her  perfection.  —  Divine  Galatea  !  less  perfect,  noth- 
ing would  be  wanting  to  thee. 

(Tenderly.) 

Yet  a  soul  is  wanting.  That  figure  should  not  be 
without  a  soul. 

(With  still  increasing  tenderness.) 

How  fine  should  be  the  soul  to  animate  that  body  ! 

(He  stops  a  long  time;  then  returns  to  his  seat, 
and  speaks  with  a  slow  and  changed  voice.) 

What  desires  have  I  dared  to  form !  What  sense- 
less wMshes ! 

What  is  this  I  feel.''  —  O  Heaven  !  the  illusion  van- 
ishes, and  I  dare  not  look  into  my  heart.  I  should 
have  too  much  to  reproach  myself  with. 

(He  pauses  a  long  time,  in  profound  melancholy.) 

This,  then,  is  the  noble  passion  which  distracts  me  ! 
It  is  on  account  of  this  inanimate  figure  that  I  dare 
not  go  out  of  this  spot! — A  figure  of  marble!  —  a 
stone!  —  A  hard  and  unformed  mass,  until  worked 
with  this  iron  !  —  Madman,  recover  thyself,  see  thine 
error,  groan  for  thy  folly  —      But  no  — 

(Impetuously.) 

No,  I  have  not  lost  my  reason ;  no,  I  am  not 
wandering;  I  reproach  myself  with  nothing.  It  is 
not  of  this  marble  tliat  I  am  enamoured  ;  it  is  of 
a  living  being  whom  it  resembles  ;  the  figure  which 
it  presents  to  my  eyes.  Wherever  this  adorable 
form  may  be,  whatever  body  may  bear  it,'  whatever 
hand    may    have    made    it,    she   will    have    all    the 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  209 

VOWS  of  my  heart.  Yes,  my  only  folly  is  in  the 
power  of  discerning  beauty;  my  only  crime  is  being 
sensible  to  it.  There  is  nothing  in  this  I  ought  to 
blush  for. 

(Less  lively,  but  always  with  passion.) 

What  arrows  of  fire  seem  to  issue  from  this  object 
to  burn  my  senses,  and  to  carry  away  my  soul  unto 
their  source !  Alas !  she  remains  immovable  and 
cold,  while  my  heart,  consumed  by  her  charms,  longs 
to  quit  my  own  body  to  give  warmth  to  hers.  I 
imagine  in  my  delirium  that  I  could  spring  from 
myself,  that  I  could  give  to  her  my  life,  that  I  could 
animate  Iier  with  my  soul.  Ah,  let  Pygmalion  die, 
to  live  in  Galatea  !  —  What  do  I  say,  O  Heaven  ?  If 
I  were  she,  I  should  no  longer  see  her ;  I  should 
not  be  he  that  loves  her  !  —  No,  let  my  Galatea  live  ; 
but  let  not  me  become  Galatea.  O  !  let  me  always 
be  another,  always  wish  her  to  be  herself,  to  love 
her,  to  be  beloved  — 

(Transported.) 

Torments,  vows,  desires,  impotent  rage,  terrible, 
fatal  love  —  O!  all  hell  is  in  my  agitated  heart  — 
Powerful,  beneficent  Gods  !  —  Gods  of  the  people, 
who  know  the  passions  of  men,  ah,  how  many  mir- 
acles have  you  done  for  small  causes !  Behold  this 
object,  look  into  my  heart,  be  just,  and  deserve  your 
altars  ! 

(With  a  more  jjallietic  enthusiasm.) 

And  tliou,  sublime  essence,  who,  concealing  thy- 
self from  the  senses,  art  felt  in  the  heart  of  men, 
soul  of  the  universe,  principle  of  all  existence,  tliou 
who  by  love  givcst  harmony  to  the  elements,  life  to 


2IO  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

matter,  feeling  to  bodies,  and  form  to  all  beings; 
sacred  fire,  celestial  Venus,  by  whom  everything  is 
preserved,  and  unceasingly  reproduced  !  Ah,  where 
is  thy  equalizing  justice?  Where  is  thy  expansive 
power?  Where  is  the  law  of  nature  in  the  senti- 
ment I  experience?  Where  is  thy  vivifying  warmth 
in  the  inanity  of  my  vain  desires?  All  thv  flames 
are  concentrated  in  my  heart,  and  the  coldness  of 
death  remains  upon  this  marble;  I  perish  by  the 
excess  of  life  which  this  figure  wants.  Alas  !  I  ex- 
pect no  prodigy  ;  already  one  exists,  and  ought  to 
cease  ;  order  is  disturbed,  nature  is  outraged  ;  restore 
to  her  laws  their  empire,  re-establish  her  beneficent 
course,  and  equally  shed  thy  divine  influence.  Yes, 
two  beings  are  left  out  of  the  plenitude  of  things. 
Divide  between  them  that  devouring  ardor  which 
consumes  the  one  without  animating  the  other.  It 
is  thou  who  hast  formed  by  my  hand  these  charms, 
and  these  features,  which  want  but  life  and  feeling. 
Give  to  her  the  half  of  mine.  Give  all,  if  it  be 
necessary.  It  shall  suffice  me  to  live  in  her.  O 
thou  !  who  deignest  to  smile  upon  the  homage  of 
mortals,  this  being  who  feels  nothing,  honors  thee 
not.  Extend  thy  glory  with  thy  works.  Goddess 
of  beauty,  spare  this  affi'ont  to  nature,  that  a  form 
so  perfect  should  be  an  image  of  which  there  is  no 
living  model ! 

(He  gradually  re-approaches  the  statue  with  an  air 
of  confidence  and  joy.) 

I  resume  my  senses.  What  an  unexpected  calm  ! 
What  unhoped  courage  re-animates  me  !  A  mortal 
fever    burned  my  blood,  a  balm  of  confidence   and 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES,  211 

hope  flows  in  my  veins,  and  I  feel  a  new  life.  Thus 
the  sense  of  our  dependence  sometimes  becomes  our 
consolation.  However  unhappy  mortals  may  be, 
when  they  have  invoked  the  Gods,  they  are  more 
tranquil.  —  And  yet  this  unjust  confidence  deceives 
those  who  form  senseless  wishes.  —  Alas  !  in  the  con- 
dition I  am  in,  we  call  upon  every  one,  and  no  one 
hears  us  ;  the  hope  which  deceives  is  more  senseless 
than  the  desire. 

Ashamed  of  so  many  follies,  I  dare  no  more  to  con- 
template the  cause  of  them.  When  I  wish  to  raise 
my  eyes  towards  this  fatal  object,  I  feel  a  new  trouble, 
a  sudden  palpitation  takes  my  breath,  a  secret  tremor 
stops  me  — 

(With  bitter  irony.) 

O,  look,  poor  soul !  summon  courage  enough  to 
dare  behold  a  statue. 

(He  sees  it  become  animated,  and  turns  away  with 
alarm  ;  his  heart  oppressed  with  grief.) 

What  have  I  seen?  Gods!  what  have  I  imagined 
that  I  saw?  A  color  on  the  flesh,  a  fire  in  the  eyes, 
even  movement.  —  It  was  not  enough  to  hope  for  a 
miracle  ;  to  complete  my  misery,  at  last  I  have  seen  — 

(With  expressive  melancholy.) 

Unhappy  creature,  all  is  over  wilh  thee  —  thy  de- 
lirium is  at  its  height  —  thy  reason  as  well  as  thy 
genius  abandons  thee.  Regret  it  not,  Pygmalion,  for 
the  loss  will  conceal  thy  shame. 

(With  indignation.) 

The  lover  of  a  stone  is  too  happy  in  becoming  a 
visionary. 

(He  turns  again,  and  sees  the  statue  move  and  de- 


212  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

scene!  the  steps  in  front  of  the  pedestaL  He  falls  on 
his  knees,  and  raises  his  hands  and  eyes  towards 
heaven.) 

Immortal  Gods !  Venus,  Galatea !  O,  illusion 
of  a  furious  love  ! 

(Galatea  touches  herself  and  says)  Me  ! 

(Pygmalion  transported)  —  Mc  ! 

(Galatea  touching  herself  again)  —  It  is  myself. 

(Pygmalion)  —  Ravishing  illusion,  which  even 
reaches  my  ears  !     O,  never,  never  abandon  me. 

(Galatea  moves  towards  another  figure  and  touches 
it)  —  Not  myself. 

(Pygmalion  in  an  agitation,  in  transports  which  he 
can  with  difficulty  restrain,  follows  all  her  movements, 
listens  to  her,  observes  her  with  a  covetous  attention, 
which  scarcely  allows  him  to  breathe.  Galatea  ad- 
vances and  looks  at  him  ;  he  rises  hastily,  extends  his 
arms,  and  looks  at  her  with  delight.  She  lays  her 
hand  on  his  arm  ;  he  trembles,  takes  the  hand,  presses 
it  to  his  heart,  and  covers  it  with  ardent  kisses.) 

(Galatea,  with  a  sigh)  —  Ah  !   it  is  I  again. 

(Pygmalion) — Yes,  dear  and  charming  object  — 
thou  worthy  masterpiece  of  my  hands,  of  my  heart, 
and  of  the  Gods!  It  is  thou,  it  is  thou  alone  —  I 
have  given  thee  all  my  being  —  henceforth  I  will  live 
but  for  thee.  1S20. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  213 


ON  THE  SUBURBS  OF  GENOA  AND  THE 
COUNTRY  ABOUT  LONDON.* 

DEAR  N. :  I  could  bear  my  large  study  f  ^^^ 
longer ;  so  I  have  mounted  into  my  third 
story,  and  intrenched  myself,  as  usual,  in  a  little 
corner   room.     It  is   about  the  size  of  the  study  in 

,  where   we  all  adjourned  on  the  morning  of 

Twelfth  Night,  to  take  breakfast.  Do  you  remember 
that  night?  how  we  sung  "To  ladies'  eyes  a  round. 
boys  ; "  and  how  the  eyes  were  as  sparkling  and  tri- 
umphant at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  as  they  were 
at  six  in  the  evening.''  "  Can  I  forget  it.''"  say  you  : 
"Can  anybody  forget  it?"  I  think  not.  The  very 
walls  must  remember  it.  A  living  poet,  whom  we 
were  near  killing  with  laughter  at  two  in  the  morn- 
ing, has  doubtless  written  his  best  things  upon  eyes 
since  the  appearance  of  that  ocular  constellation.  I 
am  sure  a  living  novelist  would  have  made  his  hero- 
ines equal  to  the  rest  of  his  characters,  and  done 
himself  a  world  of  good  into  the  bargain,  liad  he  not 


•  This  esviy  was  carefully  corrected  for  republication  by  the  author,  who 
ruthlessly  tlrcw  his  pen  through  many  of  its  graceful  sentences.  'riiouKh  we 
gladly  avail  oursclvc*  of  most  of  his  verbal  emendations,  wc  have  not  the  heart  to 
omit  the  pleasant  passages  which  he  marked  for  suppression,  and  therefore  re- 
print the  article  in  its  entirety,  without  the  loss  of  a  paraKr.ipli.  We  do  not 
think  the  reader  will  blaini  uh  for  retainini;  the  anecdote  of  Shelley,  and  the 
descnpiinn  of  the  suburbs  of  Genoa.  —  Kd. 

t  There  is  a  description  of  this  study  in  the  chapter  on  My  Hooks,  in  the  Indi- 
cator. The  "dear  N.''  to  whom  tbi .  .irlicic  is  addressed  is  Vinttiil  Novclio, 
"my  good  Cdiholic  friend  Nov.,"  of  Elia'»  Chapter  On  I  ar...  —  Ln. 


214  THE    WISHING-CAP   PAPERS. 

had  that  extra-judicious  hackney  coach  call  for  him  at 
one.  Be  assured,  that  pleasant  spirits  have  haunted 
that  house  ever  since.  I  know  (without  the  maid 
servants  informing  me)  that  a  noise  of  crystal  ring- 
ings and  sweet  voices  is  heard  every  Twelfth  Night 
through  the  rooms ;  and  that  the  gallant  occupier 
and  his  wife  cannot  sleep  for  the  life  of  them,  for 
exquisite  imaginations. 

But  you  must  know  I  have  another  reason  for 
mounting  into  this  nest  of  mine,  in  addition  to  those 
I  have  given  to  B.  It  lifts  me  above  a  sense  of  the 
lanes  and  stone  walls  of  this  suburb  of  Genoa.  Al- 
baro  is  a  pretty  name,  and  a  very  pretty  looking  hill 
at  a  distance.  It  has  also  some  fine  retreats  and 
gardens,  for  those  who  can  aflbrd  them.  But  for  a 
place  to  walk  about  in,  and  enjoy  one's  neighbor's 
goods  (to  which  you  know  I  have  a  propensity),  it 
only  shows  me  how  very  pretty  some  hills  as  well  as 
women  can  look  at  a  distance,  and  what  stony-hearted 
creatures  they  turn  out  upon  inspection.  When  you 
behold  Albaro  from  the  sea,  you  cry  out,  '•'  What  a 
delicious  place  to  live  in  !  "  Imagine  a  gentle  green 
hill,  full  of  olive  trees,  vineyards,  and  country  seats, 
beheld  from  a  blue  sea,  glittering  under  a  blue  sky, 
and  with  the  Apennines  at  the  back  of  it.  Enter  it, 
and  the  charm  is  dissolved.  Eternal  lanes,  with 
eternal  stone  walls,  intersect  it  in  all  directions.  The 
best  are  paved  like  the  carriage  part  of  the  London 
streets,  with  a  stripe  of  smoother  walk  in  the  middle, 
made  of  tiles  laid  edgewise.  The  worst  are  com- 
pounded of  bits  of  broken  walls,  stones,  and  occa- 
sional pushings  forth  of  the  native  rock.     Some  are 


ESSAYS    AXD    SKETCHES.  215 

merely  the  beds  of  torrents :  but  all  are  lanes,  lanes, 
lanes,  —  all  stone,  brick,  and  mortar,  with  seldom 
even  a  hole  to  look  through.  Your  only  resource,  as 
in  the  worst  passages  of  human  life,  is  to  imagine 
what  may  be  on  the  other  side  ;  but  then  the  tanta- 
lization  is  in  proportion.  In  the  summer,  the  vines 
look  over  the  walls,  here  and  there,  and  allord  a  re- 
lief; but  the  lanes,  for  the  most  part,  are  then  hot  and 
close,  and  in  those  that  lead  down  to  the  sea  the  foot- 
ing is  still  a  nuisance.  Furthermore,  the  sea  has  no 
beach.  In  winter  (which  is  quite  severe  enough  in 
this  quarter  of  Italy  to  make  you  feel  it)  the  prome- 
nade is  intolerable.-  Sometimes  a  wind  comes  down 
from  the  snowy  mountains,  sharp  set  as  a  wolf,  and 
more  searching  than  any  east  wind  with  us.  Besides, 
Genoa  being  situate  between  the  sea  and  the  moun- 
tains, is  famous  for  wind  ;  and  Albaro,  I  suppose, 
is  the  most  famous  place  for  wind  about  Genoa. 
Last  winter  one  would  have  thought  the  whole  army 
of  tempests  had  come  by  sea  to  pass  over  the  moun- 
tains, and  go  and  trample  down  some  incorrigible 
tyranny.  The  wiiole  cavalcade  seemed  to  sweep  over 
us  with  their  "sightless  horses,"  their  whistling  hair, 
and  mad  outcries. 

It  is  little  better,  for  the  most  part,  in  tiie  rest  of 
the  suburbs  ;  in  some  of  them,  not  so  g6od.  There 
is  one  good  road,  which  circles  the  hill  ;  and  on  the 
other  side  of  Genoa,  there  is  a  wider  piece  of  plain 
to  get  footing  upon.  But,  generally  speaking,  your 
path  lies  up  and  down  hill,  through  the  stoniest  of  all 
stony  alleys.  Even  tlie  road  which  I  s|)t';ik  of,  round 
Albaro,  and  which  would  make  a  beautiful   fiirure  in 


2l6  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

a  picture,  presenting  depths  of  olive  grounds  below, 
and  the  sea  in  the  distance,  tantalizes  you  with  the 
sight  of  pleasant  places  in  which  it  is  impossible  to 
enter,  and  which,  if  you  did  enter,  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  walk  in.  The  olive  grounds  are  all  walled 
in,  as  usual,  and  all  raised  upon  terraces  of  artificial 
earth,  lest  the  torrents  should  wash  them  away.  But 
what  care  the  Genoese.''  Nature,  with  them,  is  but 
a  slave  in  the  hands  of  the  slave  merchant.  All  her 
beauties  consist  in  what  they  will  fetch.  Their  olive 
trees  produce  nothing  but  quattrini  and  minestra ; 
their  bunches  of  grapes  are  but  so  many  purses  of 
soldi.  They  care  for  nothing  bnt  care  itself,  and  a 
good  oleaginous  dinner  to  make  it  worse. 

Now,  tell  it  not  in  Scotland,  lest  the  cocknies  of 
the  Canongate  rejoice;  but  give  me,  dear  N.,  before 
all  the  barren  suburbs  in  the  world  (bits  of  mountain 
included)  the  green  pastures  and  gentle  eminences 
I'ound  about  glorious  London.  There  we  have  fields  : 
—  there  one  can  walk  on  real  positive  turf;  there 
one  can  get  trees  that  are  of  no  use,  and  get  under 
trees,  and  get  among  trees ;  and  have  hedges,  stiles, 
field-paths,  sheep  and  oxen,  and  other  pastoral  amen- 
ities :  — 

"Sometimes  walking,  not  unseen, 
By  the  hedge-row  elms  on  hillocks  green  ; 
While  the  ploughman,  near  at  hand, 
Whistles  o'er  the  furrowed  land, 
And  the  milkmaid  singeth  blithe, 
And  the  mower  whets  his  scythe, 
And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale 
Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  dale." 

How  pleasant  it  is  to  read  one  of  our  poets  in  a 
foreign    country  !     I    puss  from    page    to  page,  as  I 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  21 7 

used  from  meadow  to  meadow,  not  omitting  to  enjoy 
the  style  by  the  way. 

"Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures. 
While  the  landscape  roi-.nd  it  measures ; 
Russet  lawns  and  fallows  gray," 

Observe  the  coloring ! 

"  Where  the  nibbling  flocks  do  stray:  " 

Mark  the  nicety ! 

"Mountains—  " 

Mountains!  what  docs  he  mean  by  that? 

"  Mountains  on  whose  barren  breast 
The  laboring  clouds  do  often  rest." 

Genoa  pitched  in  the  vale  of  Thames!  He  must 
liuve  seen  Genoa  by  a  sort  of  unnatural  second  sight. 
I  beg  you  to  look  upon  this  as  an  impertinent  vision, 
foreign  to  the  subject,  or  only  brought  in  to  show  the 
beauty  of  the  rest  by  the  force  of  contrast. 

"  Meadows  trim,  with  daisies  pied." 

There  he  comes  home  again. 

"  Shallow  brooks  and  rivers  wide : 
Towers  and  battlements  it  sees, 
Bosomed  high  in  tufted  trees, 
Where  pet  haps  some  beauty  lies, 
The  Cynosure  of  nciRhboring  eyest 
Hard  by  a  cottage  chimney  smokes 
From  betwixt  two  aged  oaks." 

Complete  justice  is  never  done  to  a  fine  passage  in  a 
poet,  if  yo;i  do  not  know  the  one  that  preceded  it: 
just  as  a  new  key  in  a  musician  demands  a  compari- 
son with  that  of  the  previous  air.     How  admirably 


2lS  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

contrasted,  and  yet  with  the  propei^est  and  mellowest 
gradation,  is  the  richness  and  elevation  of  this  pas- 
sage about  the  tufted  trees  and  the  high-horn  beauty  in 
their  turrets,  with  the  "  two  aged  oaks,"  and  the  peas- 
ant's habitation  that  smokes  between  them  !  —  Alas, 
there  are  no  such  oaks  here,  and  no  such  tufted  trees  ! 
—  Do  you  remember  our  picnics  on  the  grass  in  the 
Hampstead  Fields?  Do  you  remember  our  books, 
our  lounges,  our  trios,  our  crowns  of  field  flowers  for 
heads  "  not  our  own  "?  Do  you  recollect  that  strange 
Centaur  of  a  squire,  who  came  riding  in  his  meadows 
with  a  monster  of  a  footman  behind  him,  and  could 
not  help  being  delighted  at  seeing  our  dinner  tres- 
passing on  his  premises? 

I  fancy  you  discern  to  what  all  this  leads,  —  the 
sketch  that  I  promised  you  a  long  while  back,  of 
pleasant  memories  connected  with  the  country  about 
London  ;  similar  to  those  which  I  have  touched  upon 
in  a  former  Indicator,  connected  with  the  inside  of 
it.  You  are  I'ight.  I  could  not  delay  it  longer,  if  I 
would. 

"Ah,  happy  hills  !  ah,  pleasing  shade  1 

Ah,  fields  beloved  in  vain  ! 
Where  once  my  careless  childhood  strayed, 

A  stranger  yet  to  pain  ! 
I  feel  the  gales  that  from  ye  blow 
A  momentary  bliss  bestow. 

As  waving  fresh  their  gladsome  wing, 
My  weary  soul  they  seem  to  soothe, 
And  redolent  of  joy  and  youth. 

To  breathe  a  second  spring." 

And  yet  the  fields  are  not  "  beloved  in  vain  ;  "  neither 
was  my  childhood  a  stranger  to  suffering.  My  life 
has  had   strong  lights   and   shades  upon   it   from   its 


ESSAYS    AXD    SKETCHES.  219 

commencement ;   but,  upon  the  whole,  I  am  grateful  ; 
and  the  pleasures  I  have  enjoyed  make  me  love  even^ 
the  memory  of  some  of  the  pains, 

"A  dram  of  sweet  is  worth  a  pound  of  sour." 

How  could  Gray  say  that  his  fields  were  ''beloved  in 
vain,"  when  the  sight  of  them,  in  pain  and  melan- 
choly, could  still  please  him  in  this  manner  ;  and  when 
he  cultivated  flowers  in  his  college  window  to  the 
last?  Nature  is  never  beloved  in  vain.  Shakespeare, 
after  running  the  whole  round  of  humanity,  went  to 
live  and  to  die  among  his  native  fields.  Rousseau's  bot- 
any never  forsook  him.  The  oaks  are  firm  friends; 
and  we  can  love  the  most  blooming  of  roses  in  oiu" 
old  age. 

In  taking  my  circuit  round  London,  I  will  begin 
with  the  cast,  in  order  that  I  may  end  with  the  north. 
It  is  the  least  pleasant  side,  yet  two  out  of  our  four 
greatest  names  in  poetry  arc  connected  witli  it,  — 
Spenser  and  Milton.  I  have  already  noticed  that 
Spenser  was  born  in  East  Smithficld.  Bunhill  Fields 
has  the  most  unromantic  of  sounds,  and  }  ct  there 
Milton  not  only  lived,  but  seems  to  have  delighted  to 
live.  It  is  probably  the  "  noble  suburban  spot,"  of 
which  he  speaks  in  his  Latin  poems,  and  contained 
the  elm  trees  of  which  he  was  so  fond.  I  do  not  re- 
member whether  I  have  mentioned  before,  that  vSteele 
amused  himself  with  a  laboratory  at  Poplar,  vvliich 
is  still  extant.  You  may  gather  from  some  (jf  the 
works  of  De  Foe,  who  was  a  hosier  in  Cornhill,  that 
he  was  a  great  walker  about  the  neighborhood  of  the 
river.    An  unaccustomed  eye.  suddenly  emerging  from 


220  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

the  narrow  streets  upon  Tower  Hill,  is  met  by  a  crowd 
,of  grand  and  tragical  recollections,  —  by  murdered 
patriots  and  heroes,  infants,  lovers,  and  kings.  There 
breathed  out  the  souls  of  the  Raleighs  and  Sydneys. 
There  Hutchinson  prepared  himself  to  die  in  patient 
endurance  ;  and  Guilford  Dudley  and  Jane  Grey  went 
one  after  the  other  to  the  scaflbld,  instead  of  the  re- 
tirement that  suited  their  innocence.  The  death  of 
another  Jane  is  said  to  have  given  its  name  to  Shore- 
ditch.  This  was  Jane  Shore,  the  life  of  the  volup- 
tuous retirements  of  Edward  the  Fourth,  who  was  seen 
there  in  her  old  age,  wrinkled,  and  gathering  water- 
cresses.  What  a  difierence  from  the  picture  of  her,  in 
which  she  is  described  as  having  risen  "■  out  of  her  bed 
in  the  morning,  having  nothing  on  but  a  rich  mantle 
cast  under  one  arm  over  her  shoulder,  and  sitting  in  a 
chair,  on  which  her  naked  arm  did  lie  !  "  This  por- 
trait, by  the  way,  argues  a  taste,  and  an  eye  for  col- 
oring, which  one  should  hardly  have  looked  for  in  the 
paintings  of  those  times.  It  was,  perhaps,  the  work 
of  an  Italian.  But  I  shall  never  get  out  of  town.  Of 
Hackney,  and  all  that  region,  famous  for  giving  a 
name  to  Hackney  coaches,  I  know  nothing  more  illus- 
trious than  what  is  said  of  it  in  some  quaint  pei"iod- 
ical  work  ;  —  namely,  that 

"  Homerton  and  Clapton  do  declare. 
The  many  country  seats  that  there  are  there." 

They  tell  me,  however  (is  this  true?),  that  I  am  to 
like  a  place  a  little  more  to  tlie  north,  the  name  of 
which  I  shall  not  allow  myself  to  be  sure  of  till  I  hear 
further  advices.     Let  it  be  as  good  a  name  as  you 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCH  ES.  221 

can,  for  I  shall  "  like  it  most  horribly."  I  remember 
now  that  I  used  to  go  that  way  to  bathe.  Besides, 
you  have  C.  L.  The  great  men  of  the  court  of  Eliza- 
beth must  have  resided  much  about  the  neisrhborhood 
of  Stoke  Xevvington  and  Highbury,  for  every  old 
mansion  thereabout  is  dignified  with  the  title  of  one 
of  her  palaces.  A  house  is  still  shown  at  Islington, 
for  Raleigh's.  At  Stoke  Newington  lived  the  late 
Dr.  Aikin,  who  was  a  clever  man  and  did  good  ; 
though  he  should  not  have  said,  that  vSpenser's  Epi- 
thalamium  '•  wants  only  judicious  curtailment  to 
make  it  a  very  pleasing  piece."  I  would  as  lief  have 
had  the  bride  curtailed,  had  I  been  the  hero  of  it.  Dr. 
Aikin's  sister,  Mrs.  Barbauld,  still  renders  the  place 
interesting  by  her  residence.  Here  lived  Dr.  Watts, 
whose  logical  head  did  not  hinder  his  little  frail  per- 
son from  being  hypochondriacal,  and  whose  hypo- 
chondria, unfortunately,  drove  him  into  Calvinism 
instead  of  the  Bowling-green.  But  I  believe  he  extri- 
cated himself  at  last.  There  wants  a  good  account 
of  the  last  years  of  men  who  get  rid  of  their  super- 
stitions, as  well  as  of  those  who  are  said  to  have  been 
overcome  by  them. 

To  return  to  the  river's  side,  and  cross  the  water. 
At  Greenwich,  famous  for  its  green  woods  and  white 
sails,  —  for  its  old  weather-beaten  pensioners,  who  sit 
eying  the  placid  stream,  —  and  for  lasses  wiio  kiss 
their  mother  earth  all  the  way  down  hill  in  fair  time, 
and  their  cousin  John  at  the  bottom  of  it,  —  C^iecn 
Elizabeth  held  her  court ;  such  a  court,  as  princes 
and  courtiers  can  seldom  contrive  to  muster  up.  Flat- 
tery there  had  a  sort  of  right;  and,  accordingly,  the 


222  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

old  Qiieen  was  a  "  nymph"  to  the  last,  scorching  up 
the  llattons  and  Ralcighs  with  the  retrospective 
beauties  of  seventy.  Furlliermore,  she  walked  abroad 
among  them  with  a  wrinkled  face,  black  teeth,  little 
sparkling  gray  eyes,  a  hand  and  arm  so  white  that 
it  transported  even  Dutchmen,  and  a  new  gown 
for  every  day  in  the  year.  How  she  contrived  to 
maintain  her  charms,  while  dancing  and  playing  on 
the  lute,  in  order  to  convince  a  Scotch  ambassador 
of  her  juvenility,  who  was  to  look  through  a  crevice, 
none  but  a  Scotchman  can  say  ;  and,  accordingly,  I 
leave  it  to  Sir  Walter.  If  he  discovers  something  to 
venerate  in  the  fumbling  of  King  James,  he  will  sure- 
ly not  be  at  a  loss  in  the  tumbling  of  old  Elizabeth. 
At  Redriff  (vainly  spelt  Rotherhithe)  some  story-book 
hero  cuts  a  hgure  ;  but  I  cannot  remember  his  name. 
Down  the  Kent  Road,  Chaucer's  pilgrims  took  their 
way  to  Canterbury,  telling  stories  that  have  outlasted 
St.  Thomas's  shrine,  and  will  outlast  a  thousand 
others.  I  think  I  see  him  now,  looking  downwards; 
the  Wife  of  Bath  grinning  ;  the  Friars  and  Summon- 
ers  in  all  their  varieties  of  hypocrisy  and  impudence; 
the  Squire  dancing  on  his  horse,  conscious  of  the 
Prioress ;  the  experienced  Knight,  his  father ;  the 
busy  Sergeant  at  Law,  who  seemed  still  "  busier  than 
he  was  ;  "  the  reckless  Sailor  ;  the  unhealthy  Cook  ; 
the  lean  meek  Scholar,  upon  his  lean  horse ;  the  lean 
choleric  Steward,  upon  his  plump  one  ;  the  bull  of  a 
Miller,  &c.,  &c.,  and  Harry  Baillie,  the  host,  venting 
his  admiration  of  a  pathetic  story  in  a  volley  of  oaths. 
Kent  Street  derives  a  minor  lustre  from  Goldsmith's 
Madame  Blaze.     Newington    Butts,  as  its  name  de- 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  233 

notes,  was  famous  for  archery.  With  the  suburb 
fields,  that  now  contain  prisons  and  bedlams,  tiic 
great  poets  and  wits  of  Shakespeare's  time  must  have 
been  conversant,  owine:  to  the  neis:hborhood  of  the 
theatre  in  the  Borough.  Their  club,  at  the  Mermaid 
in  Cornhill,  was  as  convenient  a  spot  as  they  could 
well  choose,  between  the  theatre  on  one  hand,  and  the 
court  and  country  seats  of  Elizabeth  on  the  two  sides  of 
the  water  on  the  other.  Camberwell  was  lately  remark- 
able for  the  proud  villa  of  a  Qiiaker  physician.  Clap- 
ham  looks  unnatural,  with  its  bankers'  houses  on  a 
bit  of  wild  common.  Armstrong,  in  his  poem  upon 
preserving  health,  recommends  Dulwich  as  "•  yet  un- 
spoiled by  art."  I  believe  it  still  retains  its  chaiacter, 
though  more  houses  have  come,  and  the  gypsies  gone 
away.  It  touches  upon  Norwood.  Here  is  Dulwich 
College,  founded  by  one  of  Shakespeare's  fellow-play- 
ers, Allen,  —  a  name  which  seems  to  belong  to  people 
of  worth.  I  know  one  myself.  The  original  of 
Fielding's  Allworthy  was  another  :  and  the  first  coun- 
tenence  I  remember  at  sciiool  was  an  Allen's,  —  so 
good  and  handsome  that  an  old  stall-woman,  against 
whom  he  happened  to  nni  in  the  street,  and  to  turn 
round  upon    in  the  course   of  her  abuse,  exclaimed, 

"  Confound  your  great,  ugly,  driving sweet  face, 

God  bless  it !  "  Poor  Allen  !  he  died  aboard  ship,  a 
surgeon,  vainly  forewarned  by  Rotierick  Kantlom. 
What  iiad  iiis  blushing  maiden  face  to  do  in  a  gang- 
way? And  yet  what  woul<l  tlic  hard  places  of  the 
world  become,  if  such  faces  never  bhone  on  them  ! 
—  To  Dulwich  College  Sir  Francis  Bourgeois  be- 
queathed his  collection  of  pictures,  which  it  is  a  tioli- 


224  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

day  to  go  and  see.  Between  Dulvvich  and  Bccken- 
b.am  is  a  prett}-,  rustic,  out-of-the-way  spot,  called 
Penge,  which  an  acquaintance  of  yours  thinks  the 
charniingest  place  in  the  world.  Her  first  child  was 
born  at  Beckenham.  The  white  spire  of  Beckenham 
church,  issuing  out  of  the  trees,  is  a  truly  English  and 
sylvan  spectacle.  I  think  Johnson  was  in  the  habit 
of  visitinir  somebody  at  Beckenham.  In  the  church 
is  Gray's  epitaph  on  Mrs.  Clarke,  "  Lo  !  where  the 
silent  marble  weeps."  Sydenham,  another  pretty  vil- 
lage with  a  green,  has  long  been  the  residence  of  Mr. 
Campbell.  Lewisham  was  immortalized  by  Qiieen 
Elizabeth  in  a  strain  of  alliterative  abuse,  which,  not 
being  a  queen,  I  have  not  the  face  to  repeat.  Returning 
westward,  we  come  to  Thrale  and  Johnson  at  Streat- 
ham.  There  Mrs.  Thrale  encouraged  his  bile  with 
good  dinners,  and  soothed  it  with  gay  curtains ;  and 
there,  it  seems,  he  had  a  desk  on  each  side  a  win- 
dow, upon  which  he  used  to  write  his  Lives  of  the 
Poets,  —  a  ''  mechanical  operation  of  the  spirit" 
somewhat  too  prophetic  of  the  point  of  criticism  at 
which  he  would  stop  short.  But  admiration  ever  be 
paid  to  the  hero  of  Boswell,  and  reverence  to  the 
good  Samaritan  who  took  up  the  female  in  the  street, 
and  put  her  to  bed  while  other  people  were  chatter- 
ing !  At  JMerton,  a  pretty  place  with  a  pretty  appel- 
lation (so  at  least  it  seemed  to  me,  when  I  spent  my 
holidays  there)  lived  the  illustrious  little  withered 
lion,  Nelson.  But  it  once  contained  a  personage  much 
more  interesting  in  my  eyes  ;  to  wit,  an  aunt  of  mine  ; 
a  true  West  Indian  of  the  best  sort,  somewhat  wilful, 
very  idle    and  generous,  and  a  lady  to  the  heart  of 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  325 

her.  If  the  mention  of  these  two  personages  together 
looks  like  an  anticlimax,  take  tlie  following  out  of  a 
master  of  the  '•  bon  gout,"  which  I  think  beats  it 
hollow.  It  is  Chaulien  addressing  the  Countess  of 
Stafford :  — 

"  Vous  n'aurez  jamais  besoin 
De  Muse  qui  vous  anime, 
Ni  qu'  ApoUon  prenne  soin 
De  vous  moutrer  le  sublime ; 
Car  vous  trouverez  chez  vous 
Dans  iin  Oncle/ort  ahnable, 
Un  maitre  plus  que  capable 
De  vous  former  au  bon  godt." 

But  what  has  this  impertinent  Frenchman  to  do 
with  one's  young  days  and  one's  natural  affections? 
Talking  of  Qiiecn  Elizabeth  and  her  Nymphals,  I 
remember  writing  an  elegy  on  the  death  of  this  kins- 
woman, in  which  I  called  lier  a  "  nymph  "  also,  though 
she  was  between  fifty  and  sixty.  Why  did  she  not  live 
to  be  called  a  damsel?  There  was  such  an  elegance 
about  her  in  my  eye  that  I  never  thought  her  wrinkled 
face  old.  And  where  are  you,  dear  cousin  F.,  that  in 
the  pride  of  your  tuckers  and  dressed  locks  you  are 
not  still  calling  me  '■''  pctii  gar(;o7i^'  and  throwing 
down  peaches  from  the  trees  to  my  adoring  eyes? 
What  had  trouble  to  do  willi  \our  warm  strip  of 
West  Indianism,  that  it  did  not  dance  and  iluth  r  all 
its  life  in  perpetual  youth?  She  had  tiie  cruelty  to 
give  me  a  little  crystal  heart,  as  if  it  signified  noth- 
ing to  the  '•' petit  garron i''  and  I  wore  it  next  my 
own  at  school,  with  an  infinite  mixture  of  pride  and 
pcnsivcncss.  Few  things  are  butter  llian  these  fan- 
cies, or  even  the  recollections  of  them ;  and  those 
that  are,  partake  of  the  same  cliaracter.     Let  me  try 

'5 


226  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

as  I  may",  I  feci  I  have  nothing  greater,  much  less 
happier  in  me,  than  I  liad  when  a  boy  ;  nor  can  I  do 
anything  better  than  ch'aw  out,  as  it  were,  what  was 
in  mc  then.  Business  has  only  made  mc  uneas}-  to 
others,  and  remorseful  to  myself.  My  tasks  take 
another  direction.  I  am  formed  by  nature  to  sulfer 
and  imagine  alone,  or  in  company  with  some  friend  ; 
and  in  public  to  do  nothing  but  impart  a  sense  of  the 
joys  which  love  and  patience  reward  me  with. 

But  what  have  the  peach  trees  done  with  me,  that 
I  stand  here  in  a  dream,  when  I  have  to  make  half 
the  circuit  of  London  ?  Yet  I  must  not  forget  the  little 
River  Wandle,  which  runs  by  Merton,  and  in  which  I 
once  saw  a  vision  bright  and  ideal  as  any  in  a  picture. 
It  was  nothing,  too,  but  a  girl  with  long  flaxen  hair 
and  blue  eyes,  washing  some  linen  with  naked  feet 
among  the  pebbles.  Ilcr  hair  was  flaxenest  of  the 
flaxen  ;  her  eyes  blue  as  sapphire  ;  —  it  was  August ; 
and  the 

"  Csrule  stieam,  rambling  in  pebble-stone, 
Crept  under  moss  as  green  as  any  gourd." 

What  she  must  have  thought  of  me  in  my  school 
petticoats  I  know  not ;  but  her  surprise  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  fixing  her  in  a  beautiful  posture,  and 
making  her  open  all  her  blue  eyes.  I  wish  Mr. 
Wordsworth  had  flourished  then,  and  set  "  us  youth  " 
upon  attempting  to  write  naturally.  I  made  "  a  copy 
of  verses"  afterwards  upon  the  Wandle,  which  might 
have  been  a  little  better  for  it.  When  I  met  with  the 
lines  upon  it  in  Drayton's  Polyolbion,  the  vision  came 
upon  me  again  in  all  its  beauty,  only  not  quite  so 
"  plump." 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  22/ 

"  Then  Wandal  cometh  in,  the  Mole's  beloved  mate. 
So  amiable,  so  fair,  so  pure,  so  delicate. 
So  plump,  so  full,  so  fresh,  her  eyes  so  wondrous  clear  ; 
And  first  unto  her  lord  at  Wandsworth  doth  appear. 
That  in  the  goodly  court  of  their  great  sovereign  Thames, 
There  might  no  other  speech  be  had  amongst  the  streams 
But  only  of  this  nymph,  sweet  Wandal,  what  she  wore, 
Of  her  complexion,  grace,  and  how  herself  she  bore." 

Polyolb.,  Song  17. 

At  Wimbledon,  when  a  child,  I  was  taken  to  see 
Home  Tooke,  who  patted  me  on  the  head,  and  gave 
me  a  very  diflbrent  benediction  from  the  bishop.  In 
a  wood  near  the  same  place  I  saw,  many  years  after- 
wards, one  of  the  most  successful  of  ministers,  who 
seemed  one  of  the  most  miserable  of  men.  I  have 
pitied  him  ever  since. 

At  Putney  Gibbon  was  born,  and  at  Batteisea  lived 
Bolingbrokc.  A  pretty  inlidcl  neighborliood !  I 
think  I  see  BoHngbroke  and  Swift  silting  at  the  open 
window  over  the  Thames,  waiting  for  Arbuthnot  and 
Gay  to  come  from  London,  and  Pope  froin  Twicken- 
ham. Bolingbroke  is  lounging,  with  an  end  of  his 
peruke  over  his  shoulder.  Swift  is  fidgeting  with 
the  girdle  of  his  cassock,  or  cutting  his  nails  to  the 
quick  witli  a  penknife.  All  the  banks  of  tiie  Thames 
upwards  are  classic  ground.  At  Richmontl,  in  that 
lazy  undress  of  a  fat  body,  called  Thomson,  lived  one 
of  the  freest,  most  cordial,  and  most  unexckisive  of 
poetical  spirits,  the  most  un-Scotch  of  Scotchmen. 
lie  was  seen  eating  peaches  ofl*  a  tree  with  his  hands 
in  his  waistcoat  pf)ckets  ;  which  is  what  he  ought  to 
have  done.  Out  of  his  enjoyments  have  come  ours. 
Garrick  must  not  be  passed  by  at  Hampton,  nor  old 
Jacob  Tonson   at    Barn     Elms,  since    Congreve    and 


228  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

Vanbrugh  used  to  dine  with  liiin  ;  *  nor  Horace 
Walpole,  with  his  toy-shop  and  his  two-penny  no- 
tions, at  Strawberry  llilL  He  would  have  been  a 
man,  if  he  had  not  been  a  lord.  But  Twickenham 
and  Pope  !     What  a  burst  of  beauty  and  wit  is  there  1 

"What  lady's  that,  to  wliom  he  gently  bends? 

Who  knows  not  her  ?     Ah,  those  are  Wortley's  eyes, 
The  sweet-tongued  Murray  near  her  side  attends ; 

Now  to  my  heart  the  glance  of  Howard  flies  ; 
Now  Harvey,  fair  of  face,  I  mark  full  well. 
With  thee,  youth's  youngest  daughter,  sweet  Lepell. 

"  I  see  two  lovely  sisters  hand  in  hand. 

The  fair-haired  Martha,  and  Teresa  brown  ;     • 

Madge  Bellenden,  the  tallest  of  the  land. 
And  smiling  Mary,  fair  and  soft  as  down. 

Yonder  I  see  the  cheerful  duchess  stand 

For  friendship,  zeal,  and  blithesome  humors  known  : 

Whence  that  loud  shout  in  such  a  hearty  strain  ? 

Why,  all  the  Hamiltons  are  in  her  train."  —  Gay. 

We  fancy  Pope  always  reading  or  writing ;  at  in- 
tervals entertaining  Bolingbroke,  Swift,  or  Arbuthnot, 
or  all  three  ;  or  undergoing  his  pleasing  provocations 
betwixt  the  humors  of 

"  The  fair-haired  Martha,  and  Teresa  brown." 


•  See  a  pleasant  parody  by  Rovv'e,  on  the  Dialogue   between   Horace   and 
Lydia.     The  speakers  are  Tonson  and  Congi  eve.     Tonson  says,  — 

"  I'm  in  with  Captain  Vanbrugh  at  the  present, 
A  most  sweet-natured  gentleman,  and  pleasant ; 
He  writes  your  comedies,  draws  schemes  and  models, 
And  builds  duke's  houses  upon  very  odd  hills." 

Yet  he  ends  with  saying,  that  he  would  jjive  up  even  Vanbrugh  to  be  reconciled 
with  Congreve,  and  would  set  up  a  bed  for  him  in  his  dining-room  at  Bow  Street 
if  he  would  come  and  see  him.  Jacob  cuts  a  better  figure  here  than  when  he  in- 
serted bad  money  among  his  payments  to  poor  Dryden  for  his  Virgil.  —  See  the 
letters  at  the  end  of  Walter  Scott's  edition  of  Dryden. 


f 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  _    229 

Further  up,  at  Chertsey,  died  good-hearted  and 
fine-headed  Cowley,  —  Pope  says,  of  a  fever,  which 
he  caught  in  consequence  of  having  been  drinking 
too  freely,  and  lying  out  all  night  in  the  fields,  with 
Dean  Sprat.  The  story  is  in  Spencc's  Anecdotes, 
but  was  omitted  by  Johnson,  less  out  of  tenderness, 
I  dare  say,  to  the  Tory  poet,  than  to  the  Tory  bishop, 
whom  he  was  anxious  to  exalt.  Pope  added,  that 
"  the  parish  still  talked  of  the  drunken  Dean''' 

Brentford,  as  Sir  Ilugli  Evans  would  have  said, 
"  hath  strange  reputations."  It  was  celebrated  in  the 
wars  of  the  King  and  Parliament.  The  "  two  kings" 
of  it  arc  renowned  in  the  Rehearsal.  A  poet,  who 
lived  at  Richmond,  records  it  as  "  a  town  of  mud  ;"  * 
and  a  king,  who  lived  at  Kew,  chose  it  for  his  pros- 
pect from  the  other  side  of  the  river.  At  Hammer- 
smith Richardson  had  a  country  box.  He  used  to 
bring  unexpected  nosegays  from  his  garden  there  to 
his  printing  office  in  the  city,  in  order  to  tempt  his 
compositors  to  be  early  at  their  work. 

Kensington  is  eminent  for  the  heaviest  part  of  the 
gossipping  history  of  coints  ;  but  there  are  one  or  two 
literary  anecdotes  connected  with  it,  which  I  cannot 
refer  to  for  want  of  books.  There  is  a  poem  on  the 
Gardens  by  Tickell.  1  believe  Kent  first  displayed 
his  genius  in  improving  them.     There  was  once  some 

*  Castle  of  Indolence,  the  laot  stanza. 

"  Ev'n  »",  ihroiigli  Rrcntfi.r'l's  town,  .t  town  of  mud, 
An  herd  of  bristly  swine  is  prick'd  along,"  &c. 

Gay  records,  — 

"  Brentford's  tedious  town, 
For  dirty  streets  and  wliite-lr|(ged  chickens  kooun." 


230  THE    WISIIING-CAP    PAPERS. 

inconvenience,  perhaps,  in  walking  in  them  at  late 
hours ;  but  all  the  rest  of  the  time  it  was  as  it  should 
be.  Now,  for  "  satyrs  and  sylvan  boys,"  they  have 
beadles,  who  take  care  that  you  cultivate  nature  with 
propriety,  and  remind  you  at  every  turn  of  the  Board 
of  Green  Cloth.  Who  can  dine  on  the  grass  with 
beadles  looking  at  them  ?  Eating  their  veal  pie  under 
favor,  and  merry  by  authority? 

At  Holland  House,  still  in  becoming  hands,  lived, 
loved,  and  died  Addison  ;  none  of  them  very  happily, 
though  much  is  said  about  the  death.  I  do  not  use 
the  word  ''  happy  "  in  a  physical  sense,  but  as  a  ques- 
tion of  good  taste.  Christians  can  die  well  undenibt- 
edly  :  so  can  good  people  of  all  religions  ;  especially 
if  their  blood  is  in  a  state  for  reasonable  circulation, 
and  they  are  not  haunted  with  fears  for  others.  I  do 
not  know  how  Steele  died.  Very  pleasantly,  I  dare 
sa}',  if  he  had  his  wits  about  him  ;  for  Young  said, 
that  "  in  his  worbt  state  of  health,  he  seemed  to  desire 
nothing  but  to  please  and  be  pleased."  But  at  all 
events,  his  last  years  are  preferable  to  those  of  Addi- 
son, even  though  he  had  given  up  his  property  to  his 
creditors  and  retired  into  Wales.  He  used  to  amuse 
himself  there  with  sitting  out  of  doors  in  a  chair,  and 
giving  prizes  to  be  contended  for  by  the  village  dam- 
sels. His  more  prudent  friend,  who  put  executions 
in  his  house  to  instruct  iiun  (which  was  about  as 
good-natured,  as  Steele  thought  it,  and  about  as  wise 
as  damming  up  a  torrent  for  a  fortnight),  flourished 
and  faded  in  his  grand  house  under  tlie  contempt  of 
his  wedded  countess,  and  resorted  to  consolations, 
which,  in  such  a  man,  and  such  a  man  only,  provoke 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  2^1 

one  to  forget  the  charity  which  he  lost  sight  of.  It  is 
a  tradition,  I  believe,  in  Holland  House,  that  Addison 
used  sometimes  to  compose  while  pacing  up  and 
down  a  long  room  that  had  a  window  at  each  end, 
and  in  eacii  window  a  bottle.  What  the  bottle  con- 
tained, more  or  less,  stronger  or  weaker,  is  matter  of 
speculation.  If  he  thought  of  poor  Steele,  I  beg  his 
pardon  ;  but  why  did  he  not  say  something  about  it.-* 
Addison's  tavern  habits  were  too  much  for  Pope,  who 
was  obliged  to  leave  off  sitting  upw'ith  hTm.  Dennis, 
according  to  Spence's  Anecdotes,  said,  that  Dryden 
"  for  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life  was  much  acquainted 
with  Aildison,  and  drank  with  him  more  llian  he  ever 
used  to  do  ;  probably  so  far  as  to  hasten  liis  end." 
Addison  was  then  a  young  man.  This  was  beginning 
betimes  for  the  great  moralist  of  the  circles.  W'lien 
the  story  of  his  death-bed  is  told,  it  should  be  added 
(and  doubtless  would  obtain  equal  admiration)  lluit, 
a  fortnight  before,  he  sent  lor  Gay,  and  tokl  him  with 
much  penitence,  that  he  had  '■'■  injured  him  greatly," 
but  woukl  make  it  up  to  him,  if  he  lived.  What  the 
injury  was,  does  not  appear.  ''Better  late  than  nev- 
er ;  "  but  did  he  husband  tiiis  good  thing  all  the  w  hile 
he  was  writing  the  Spectator,  and  the  charming  Satur- 
day articles.'*  The  lecture  which  he  wrote  to  the  lady 
wlio  made  love  to  him,  and  wiiich  somehow  oi'  other 
Iraiispircd^  is  of  a  piece  with  the  rest.  Little  did 
Calista  know  of  liiiii.  Addison  had  wit  at  will,  a 
deliglitful  style,  little  things  of  all  sorts  in  profusion, 
especially  when  he  was  in  his  cups:  but  he  wanted 
greatness  <jf  every  kind.  His  viitue,even  in  its  liinn- 
blest  moment,  was  but  a   species  of  good   breeding, 


2TyZ  THE    WISIIING-CAP    PAPERS. 

equally  useful  to  him,  he  thought,  in  and  out  of  the 
presence  ;  a  mixture  of  prudence,  egotism,  and  sub- 
mission. He  was  perplexed  neither  by  his  sympa- 
thies nor  his  wisdom  (at  least  he  has  not  suffered  any 
such  misgivings  in  the  loug  room  to  transpire)  ;  and 
he  went  to  heaven,  as  he  would  have  gone  to  court, 
dressed  in  his  most  becoming  graces  a  la  mode^  and 
preparing  himself  for  a  good  reception,  if  not  by  the 
consciousness  of  his  rank,  by  the  smiling  zeal  of  his 
deference,  and  the  politeness  of  his  security. 

In  the  burying-ground  between  Bayswater  and 
Oxford  Street  lies  "  poor  Yorick." 

Paddington,  "•  base,  common,  and  popular"  as  it 
may  now  seem,  is  a  very  old  village,  that  once  had  an 
abbey  with  a  flourishing  abbot,  famous  for  his  pomp 
and  hospitality.  One  side  of  the  road  still  belongs  to 
the  church.  I  have  had  many  reasons  for  loving  it, 
man  and  boy:  —  but  here  begins  the  ground  of  my 
affections,  continuing  through  mead  and  green  lane 
till  it  reaches  beyond  Hampstead.  In  the  church- 
yard, by  the  green,  with  the  fine  trees  on  it,  lie  two 
of  the  most  irritable  spirits  that  ever  disseminated  lib- 
ei"al  opinion,  —  Curran  and  Dr.  Geddes.  The  tomb 
of  Geddes  has  an  epitaph  upon  it  worth  a  Christian's 
going  to  see.  In  front  of  one  of  the  houses  between 
Paddington  and  Oxford  Street,  is  an  almond  tree ; 
not  "  on  top  of  green  Pelinis,"  but  "  all  alone  "  never- 
theless, and  in  its  due  season 

"  With  blossoms  brave  bedecked  daintily." 

Proprietor  of  that  house  and  tree,  and  occupier  of 
the  house  next  door,  was  an  old  lady,  whom  I  recol- 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  333 

lect,  or  think  I  recollect,  in  my  childhood,  as  a  sort 
of  perpetual  thin-visaged  old  girl.  In  vain  she  walked 
out  with  a  lap-dog,  a  hood,  and  an  umbrella  that  was 
also  a  walking-stick.  Her  lap-dog,  a  jealous  cur,  was 
the  only  unpleasant  thing  about  her.  Her  merry 
voice  "  piped  as  though  it  should  never  grow  old." 
And  yet,  whether  I  know  her  best  from  my  own  ex- 
perience, or  those  of  my  brothers,  I  forget.  At  all 
events,  her  image  appears  as  vivid  to  me  as  if  I  saw  it 
carved  at  the  top  of  her  stick.  She  was  the  terror 
and  delight  of  all  children  ;  alternately  frightening 
them  to  death  with  goblin  tricks,  and  putting  them  in 
Paradise  with  indescribable  dumplings.  What  a  dif- 
ference between  her  and  another  old  lady  whom  I 
knew,  who  lived  in  a  great  house  by  Paddington 
Church,  and  was  herself  frightened  to  death,  and 
worse,  by  Calvinism  !  She  was  one  of  the  kindest 
women  in  the  world  ;  but  she  "  lived  v.-ell,"  and  did 
not  move  about  like  the  other,  which  would  have 
kept  her  blood  from  stagnating  in  that  infernal  lake. 
I  know  not  to  which  of  the  houses  it  was,  but  I  think 
to  the  smaller  one  that  belonged  those  divine  green 
rails,  which  used  to  dance  before  me  by  anticipation 
all  the  way  from  home,  like  a  fairy  prospect.  There 
are  no  such  rails  now,  as  the  old  gentleman  in  Gil 
Bias  said  of  the  peaches.  And  yet  I  have  a  pleasure 
in  seeing  imitaliuns  c>f  them  too,  especially  in  a  poor 
subuil;. 

I  know  not  which  is  the  plcasantcr  way  to  llamp- 
stead,  the  one  up  Kilburn  L.ine  through  West  End,  or 
the  one  over  the  beautiful  meadows  that  ascend  to  the 
church.     Upon    the   whole,   however,   I    am    fur    the 


234  "^^^^    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

latter,  and  you  generally  go  that  way  ;  so  here  is  a 
vade-mec7it7i  to  read  agahi^  as  you  take  your  journey  ; 
for  that  you  must  read  it  in  the  fields,  and  in  those 
identical  fields,  is  certain.  If  you  are  obliged  to  read 
it  aloud,  I  shall  not  quarrel ;  nor  even  if  you  are  all 
happy  in  hearing  it ;  since  I  shall  only  gnash  my  teeth 
with  impatience,  when  I  receive  the  news,  which  is 
what  I  am  inclined  to  do  every  week  when  I  think  of 
every  friend  I  have  ;  so  it  does  not  much  signify.  Out 
of  forty  thousand  impatiences  comes  patience.  I  am 
"  used  to  it,"  like  the  eels.  B.  shall  write  me  an  ac- 
count of  it,  and  put  me  at  my  worst ;  when  I  shall, 
of  course,  grow  better. 

Kilburn  (the  Kele  or  Cold  Bourne)  had  its  ab- 
bey, as  well  as  Paddington.  It  is  said  to  have  stood 
on  that  pretty  green  slope  on  the  right  hand,  as  you 
enter  the  village  from  London.  The  Bourne  runs 
at  the  foot  of  it,  and  forms  afterwards  tlie  sheet  of 
water  facetiously  called  the  Serpentine  River.  Out 
of  the  left  side  of  Kilburn  runs  a  lane  to  a  little 
rustic  hamlet  called  Wilsdon,  one  of  the  most  se- 
cluded spots  about  London,  and  celebrated  in  the 
Literary  Pocket  Book  with  a  due  and  united  gusto  of 
alehouse  and  pastoral.  I  dined  there  one  time  in 
company  with  an  elegant  living  poet,  whose  fancy 
retreated  from  the  "  cakes  and  ale  "  into  a  contem- 
))l:ition  of  the  white-curtained  room  up  stairs,  which 
he  thought  very  amiable.  White-curtained  rooms  are 
amiable.  There  are  no  such  little  draperied  simplici- 
ties here,  with  woodbine  and  diamond  windows  j 
though  there  are  heads  of  hair  that  would  look  well, 
looking  out.     Another  time  I  had  a  delightful  dinner 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  235 

with  W.  C,  in  a  room  hung  with  Honbracken's  en- 
gravings of  the  poets.  There  was  a  "  niece"  to  wait 
on  us  (may  nobody  make  her  look  less  happy  and 
pretty  than  she  did  then  !),  and  a  considerable  appe- 
tite on  both  sides.  C.  acknowledged  it  was  '•  the  sort 
of  thing." 

The  lane  leading  on  the  right  hand  up  'to  Hamp- 
stead  winds  pleasantly  through  thiclc  hedges  and  fer- 
tile fields,  and  opens  at  West  End  upon  a  beautiful 
view  of  Ilanipstead  and  the  Church.  From  the  re- 
tirement of  West  End,  fate  once  pitched  me  into  a 
very  difl'erent  sort  of  seclusion  in  Horsemonger  Lane 
(tliink  of  the  name  I),  as  if  I  had  been  no  better  than 
a  quoit.  It  was  a  quoit,  however,  that  had  shattered 
some  very  hyacinthine  locks. 

We  have  now  entered  Ilampstead,  the  region  of 
all  suburban  ruralities,  of  paths  leading  upward  and 
downward,  of  groves,  of  prospects,  of  meadows  and 
wood,  of  remote-looking  lanes,  of  a  remnant  of  wild 
nature,  of  classical  recollections.  When  I  returned 
from  the  very  dillcrcnt  lane  just  mentioned,  I  liastencd 
to  re-occupy  a  bench  that  stood  in  a  dcligiitful  slope, 
and  overlooked  West  End.  I  found  it  pushed  away 
by  the  fantastic  house  that  now  stands  there,  mystify- 
ing the  fields,  and  mocking  antiquity.  C.  L.  could  not 
have  l)ecn  more  startled  when  he  saw  tiie  cliiinncv- 
svveepcr  reclining  in  Richmond  meadows.  Had  llie 
cliimney-swceper  found  the  wonderful  lamp  he  might 
have  raised  just  .sucii  a  structure. 

"  With  twenty  murders  of  goud  taste  upon  it, 
To  pu.th  us  from  our  Mools. " 


236  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

Near  this  alarming  fact  (not  the  tenement  next  to  it, 
but  the  first  one  on  the  right  hand  as  you  look  up  the 
lane)  is  a  white  house,  in  which  Dr.  Johnson  took 
lodgings  for  his  wife,  crossing  the  fields  to  come  to 
her  of  an  evening.  I'he.road  leads  straight  on  from 
here  to  the  heath.  Let  me  leave  the  church  on  my 
right,  witfi  my  usual  reverence  and  silence.  Every 
spot  from  this  place  is  sacred  to  me  for  some  recol- 
lection. Good  God,  how  clearly  I  see  everything ! 
how  vividly  every  corner  turns  upon  me,  with  its 
trees,  its  gateways,  or  its  mounds  !  On  the  right,  in 
the  first  floor  of  a  cottage,  lived  the  last  of  the  Mul- 
sos,  —  at  least,  so  I  fancy  her,  for  she  was  a  maiden 
lady,  and  ought  to  have  been  the  last,  if  she  was  not. 
(Not  that  I  have  any  objection  to  the  Mulsos,  but 
Richardson  and  a  continuation  of  the  species  some- 
how do  not  agree ;  though  Pamela  thought  other- 
wise.) On  the  left  I  stood  with  dear  S.  and  M.  S., 
drawing  ideal  pictures  of  housekeeping.  On  the  right 
again  I  kissed  somebody  that  shall  be  nameless.  Here 
I  read;  there  I  wrote  something;  there  I  used  to 
turn  down  on  horseback  ;  and  there  I  was  thrown 
from  my  horse,  to  the  great  displeasure  of  a  lady's 
maid,  who,  upon  my  assuring  her  I  was  not  hurt, 
was  angry  that  I  had  made  her  so  nervous.  Let  me 
rest  a  while  in  the  grove  overlooking  the  heath,  and 
fancy  I  am.  reading  my  Spenser.  —  I'll  get  up  and 
cross  to  North  End.  At  North  End,  across  the  heath, 
imder  the  wing  of  his  friend  Dyson,  lived  Akenside. 
He  calls  the  slope  leading  into  the  Hcndon  Road, 
Goulder's  /////;  and  altogether  made  as  much  of  his 
suburb  as  the  greatest  cockney  of  us  all.    Milton  could 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  237 

not  have  said  more  for  his  "  noble  suburban  spot,"  or 
for  the  boarding-school  girls  whom  he  used  to  deify. 
"  Hampstead's  airy  summit "  anybody  may  speak  of, 
but  none  but  a  lover  could  have  talked  of  "  climbing  " 
its  "  steep  aerial  way,"  especially  on  the  north.  He 
was  then,  however,  weak  and  sick, —  sick,  too,  in  the 
lungs  ;  though  so  fond  was  he  of  the  place,  tliat  even 
the  north  wind  did  not  come  amiss  to  him.  See  his 
Odes  ;  where,  amidst  a  great  deal  of  what  is  prosa- 
ical,  and  nothing  that  is  lyrical,  the  real  poet  occa- 
sionally looks  forth. 

"Thy  verdant  scenes,  O  Goulder's  Hill, 

Once  more  I  seek,  a  languid  guest ; 

With  throbbing  temples,  and  with  burdened  breast, 

Once  more  I  climb  thy  steep  aerial  way. 

O  faithful  care  of  oft-returning  ill  1 

Now  call  thy  sprightly  breezes  round, 

Dissolve  this  rigid  cough  profound, 
And  bid  the  springs  of  life  with  gentler  movement  play. 

"  How  gladly,  'mid  the  dews  of  dawn. 

My  weary  lungs  thy  healing  gale, 

'I  he  balmy  west,  or  the  fresh  north,  inhale  ! 

How  gladly,  while  my  musing  footsteps  rove 

Round  the  cool  orchard  or  the  sunny  lawn. 

Awaked  I  stop,  and  look  to  find 

What  shrub  perfumes  tlie  pleasant  wind. 
Or  what  wild  songster  charms  the  Dryads  of  the  grove." 

All  this  reminds  me,  but  too  painfidly,  of  another 
and  greater  poet,  a  lover  of  Ilampstead,  of  whom 
more  presently.  North  End,  seen  from  the  heath 
above  it  on  tlic  south-east,  presents  one  of  the  prettiest 
village  pictures  1  am  accjuaintcd  with,  —  trees,  gar- 
dens, and  smoking  cottages,  witli  a  mansion  here 
and  there.  The  road  that  runs  over  the  lualh  be- 
tween this  and  (he  Vale  of  Ileahh    is  a   remnant   o{ 


238  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

the  old  Roman  Road  or  Watling  Street,  and  is  piviised 
by  Camden  for  the  beauty  of  its  prospects.  You  can 
see  from  it  to  Windsor,  and  the  borders  of  Bucking- 
hamshire. The  clumps  of  pines  before  the  place 
where  Lord  Erskinc  lived,  are  of  Italian  origin,  hav- 
ing been,  in  fact  (as  I  understand),  brought  from 
Italy  by  the  person  who  built  the  mansion  that  looks 
down  them.  Nearly  opposite,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  road,  are  nine  elms,  under  which  it  is  recorded 
that  Pope  and  Lord  Mansfield  used  to  sit.  It  must 
not  be  omitted,  to  the  eternal  honor  of  Mr.  Coxe, 
poet  and  auctioneer,  and  also  of  Lord  Mansfield's 
eminent  successor,  that  the  noble  lord  having  an  in- 
tention of  cutting  down  these  nine  elms,  Mr.  Coxe 
made  a  becoming  petition  in  the  name  of  the  Nine 
Muses,  which  it  was  impossible  for  an  Erskine  to 
resist.  So  the  elms  are  where  they  used  to  be,  with, 
I  hope,  a  better  seat  imder  them.  At  Caen  Wood, 
the  fine  seat  of  the  Mansfields,  there  is  a  portrait  of 
Betterton  the  player,  which  is  said  to  be  from  the 
hand  of  Pope.  On  the  right  of  the  Highgate  Road, 
pleasant  meadows  lead  over  to  pleasant  places,  — 
Hendon  and  Finchley  ;  on  the  left  a  lane  turns  oft'  to 
Highgate  and  Kentish  Town,  justly  christened  Poet's 
Lane,  both  on  account  of  its  rural  beauty  and  the 
walks  here  enjoyed  by  Mr.  Coleridge,  Mr.  Keats,  and 
others.  There  is  a  beautiful  cottage  and  farm  in  it 
(only  the  cottage  is  too  near  the  lodge)  that  belonged 
to  Lord  Southampton.  The  path  over  the  fields  to 
Highgate,  or  back  again  to  the  Vale  of  Health  or  the 
Heath,  is  quite  lovely.  Who  knows  it  better  than 
vourself?     But  you  like  me  to  repeat  it.     It  was  from 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  239 

a  house  on  the  eastern  part  of  the  heath  that  Keats 
took  his  departure  to  Italy.  Melancholy  as  it  was, 
and  the  more  so  from  his  attempt  to  render  it  calm 
and  cheerful,  it  was  not  the  most  melancholy  circum- 
stance under  which  I  saw  him  there.  I  could  not 
hinder  him  one  day  from  going  to  visit  the  house,  in 
which,  though  he  was  himself  ill  and  weak,  he  at- 
tended with  such  exemplary  affection  his  younger 
brother  that  died.  Dead  almost  himself  by  that  time, 
the  circumstance  shook  him  beyond  what  he  expected. 
The  house  was  in  Well  Walk.  You  know  the  grove 
of  elms  there.  It  was  in  that  grove,  on  the  bench 
next  the  heath,  that  he  suddenly  turned  upon  me,  his 
eyes  swimming  with  tears,  and  told  me  he  was  "  dy- 
ing of  a  broken  heart."  He  must  have  been  wonder- 
fully excited  to  make  such  a  confession  ;  for  his  spirit 
was  lofty  to  a  degree  of  pride.  Some  private  circum- 
stances pressed  on  him  at  the  time;  and  to  these  he 
added  the  melancholy  consciousness,  that  his  feeble 
state  of  health  made  him  sensible  of  some  public  an- 
noyances, which  no  man  would  sooner  otherwise  have 
despised.  His  heart  was  afterwards  soothed  where 
he  wisiicd  it  to  be;  and  when  he  took  his  departure 
for  Italy  he  had  hope,  or  he  would  hardly  have  gone. 
Even  I  had  hope.  —  My  weaker  eyes  are  obliged  to 
break  off.  He  lies  under  the  walls  of  Rome,  not  lar 
from  the  remains  of  one,  who  so  soon  and  so  abruptly 
joined  him.  Finer  hearts,  or  more  astonishing  facul- 
ties, never  were  broken  up  than  in  tliosc  two.  To 
praise  any  man's  heart  by  the  side  of  Shelley's,  is 
alone  an  extraordinary  panegyric. 

You  know  what  I  must  think  of  Hampstc:i(l.  when 


240  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

the  memories  of  two  such  men  come  in  aid  of  all  that 
endeared  me  to  it  hefore.  Its  beauty  and  its  classical 
associations  are  enough  to  render  it  interesting  to 
everybody  ;  but  love  and  friendsliip  of  all  sorts  have 
also  hallowed  it  to  me.  It  pleases  me  to  think,  that 
kindred  hearts  with  these  have  delighted  in  the  place 
before.  A  little  after  you  enter  the  town  from  Lon- 
don is  a  mansion  which  belonged  to  Sir  Henry 
Vane,  —  the  most  exalted  and  extraordinary  intellect, 
except  Milton,  of  an  age  of  great  men  ;  and  one, 
perhaps,  who  saw  still  farther  than  Milton  into  the 
capabilities  of  society,  in  spite  of  the  puritanical  cloud 
in  which  he  wrapped  up  his  Platonism.  Here  also 
Day,  the  manly-spirited  author  of  Sandford  and  Mer- 
ton,  brought  his  new-married  wife,  who  talked  and 
walked  with  him  to  his  heart's  content;  and  in  the 
long  room  in  Well  Walk,  now  the  chapel,  but  then 
the  pump-room  for  the  mineral  waters,  used  to  be  seen 
one  of  the  most  amiable  of  men  of  wit,  Arbuthnot, 
who  came  there  to  get  the  health  which  he  distributed 
to  thousands.  I  was  going  to  say  the  most  amiable 
of  physicians,  but  I  recollected  Garth.  Garth  was 
often  at  Hampstead,  if  he  never  lived  there,  for  he 
used  to  come  to  join  the  Kit-Kat  Club  at  their  sum- 
mer dinners.  He  lies  buried  at  Harrow,  purely  to 
oblige  one's  prospect.  The  club  met  at  the  last 
house  on  the  hill,  before  you  turn  down  into  the 
Vale  of  Health.  It  is  now  a  private  residence  ;  — 
a  long  low  house,  with  trees  before  it.  I  write  this 
for  your  fellow-readers.  There  is  a  series  of  his- 
tories belonging  to  this  house.  In  the  first  place, 
it   was    the  scene  of  the    summer    meetings   of    the 


ESSAVS    AND    SKETCHES.  24 1 

Club  aforesaid,  consisting  of  Steele,  Addison,  Con- 
greve,  Garth,  Vanbriigh,  and  other  wits  and  great 
Whigs.  When  Steele  was  hiding  from  his  duns  in 
a  cottage  on  Haverstock  Hill  (which  is  still  re- 
maining), they  used  to  call  for  him  by  tlie  way. 
After  this,  Richardson  made  it  tlic  scene  of  one 
of  Clarissa's  flights :  on  which  account  a  French- 
man is  said  to  have  made  a  pilgrimage  on  pur- 
pose to  see  it.  It  was  hitherto  an  inn,  known  by 
the  name  of  the  Upper  Flask.  Being  afterwards 
converted  into  a  private  dwelling-house,  it  became 
the  residence  of  George  Steevens,  the  commentator 
on  Shakespeare,  who  used  to  walk  to  London  every 
morning  at  daybreak  to  correct  tlic  press.  But 
another  anecdote  remains,  not  the  least  in  interest. 
I  will  repeat  it  for  the  benefit  of  the  readers  above 
mentioned.  Some  years  ago,  when  the  house  was 
occupied  by  a  person  whose  name  I  forget  (and  I 
should  suppress  it  in  common  humanity  if  I  did  not), 
I  was  returning  home  to  my  own,  which  was  at  no 
great  distance  from  it,  after  the  opera.  As  I  ap- 
proached my  door,  I  heard  strange  and  alarming 
shrieks  mixed  with  the  voice  of  a  man.  I'he  next  day 
it  was  reported  by  the  gossips  that  Mr.  .Shelley,  no 
Christian  (for  it  was  he  who  was  there),  had  brought 
some  "  very  strange  female  "  in  the  house,  no  better, 
of  course,  than  she  ought  to  be,  —  tlic  consequences 
of  which,  of  course,  were  no  other  than  what  they 
ought  to  be,  and  what  decent  i  magi  nations  might 
guess.  Alas,  their  decent  imaginalif)ns  would  never 
have  got  at  the  truth,  had  they  carved  it  and  Chris- 
tianed  it  till  doomsday.  Tiic  real  Christian  had 
16 


242  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

puzzled  them.  Mr.  Shelley,  in  coming  to  our  house 
that  night,  had  found  a  woman  lying  near  the  top  of 
the  hill  in  fits.  It  was  a  fierce  winter  night,  with 
snow  upon  the  ground  ;  and  winter  loses  nothing  of 
its  fierceness  at  Ilampstead.  My  friend,  always  the 
promptest  as  well  as  the  most  pitying  on  these  occa- 
sions, knocked  at  the  first  houses  he  could  reach,  in 
order  to  have  the  woman  taken  in.  The  invariable 
answer  was  that  they  could  not  do  it.  He  asked  for 
an  outhouse  to  put  her  in  while  he  went  for  a  doctor. 
Impossible.  In  vain  he  assured  them  she  was  no 
impostor,  —  an  assurance  he  was  well  able  to  give, 
havin"-  studied  something  of  medicine,  and  even 
-walked  the  Jwspitals,  that  he  might  be  useful  in  this 
way.  They  would  not  dispute  the  point  with  him  ; 
but  doors  were  closed,  and  windows  were  shut  down. 
Had  he  lit  upon  worthy  Mr.  Park,  the  philologist, 
he  would  assuredly  have  come,  in  spite  of  his  Calvin- 
ism. But  he  lived  too  far  ofl'.  Mad  he  lit  upon  you, 
dear  B — n,  or  your  neighbor,  D — e,  you  would, 
either  of  you,  have  jumped  up  from  amidst  your  books 
or  your  bed-clothes,  and  have  gone  out  with  him. 
But  the  paucity  of  Christians  is  astonishing,  consid- 
ering the  number  of  them.  Time  flies ;  the  poor 
woman  is  in  convulsions  ;  her  son,  a  young  man,  la- 
menting over  her.  At  last  my  friend  sees  a  carriage 
driving  up  to  a  house  at  a  little  distance.  The  knock 
is  given  ;  the  warm  door  opens ;  servants  and  lights 
pour  forth.  Now,  thought  he,  is  the  time.  He  puts 
on  his  best  address,  which  anybody  might  recognize 
for  that  of  the  highest  gentleman  as  well  as  v^n  inter- 
esting individual,  and   plants  himself  in   the  way  of 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  243 

an  elderly  person  who  is  stepping  out  of  the  carnage 
with  his  family.  He  tells  his  story.  They  only  press 
on  the  faster.  "Will  you  go  and  see  her?"  "No 
sir,  there  is  no  necessity  for  that  sort  of  thing,  depend 
on  it:  —  impostors  swarm  everywhere:  —  the  thing 
cannot  be  done  :  —  sir,  your  conduct  is  extraordi- 
nary." "  Sir,"  cried  Mr.  Shelley  at  last,  assuming  a 
very  different  appearance,  and  forcing  the  flourishing 
householder  to  stop  out  of  astonishment,  "I  am  sorry 
to  say  that  your  conduct  is  not  extraordinary :  and 
if  my  own  seems  to  amaze  you,  I  will  tell  you  some- 
thing that  may  amaze  you  a  little  more,  and  I  hope 
will  frighten  you.  It  is  such  men  as  you  who  madden 
the  spirits  and  the  patience  of  the  poor  and  wretched  ; 
and  if  ever  a  convulsion  comes  in  this  country  (which 
is  very  probable)  recollect  what  I  tell  you;  —  you 
will  have  your  house,  which  you  refuse  to  put  this 
miserable  woman  into,  burnt  over  your  head."  "  God 
bless  nie,  sir!  Dear  me,  sir!  "  exclaimed  the  fright- 
ened wretch,  and  fluttered  into  his  mansion.  The 
woman  was  then  brought  to  our  house,  which  was  at 
some  distance,  and  down  a  bleak  path  ;  and  j\Ir.  S. 
and  her  son  were  obliged  to  hold  her  till  the  doctor 
could  arrive.  It  ajjpcarcd  that  she  iiad  been  attend- 
ing this  son  ill  London,  on  a  criminal  charge  made 
against  him,  the  agitation  of  which  had  thrown  her 
into  the  fits  on  their  return.  The  dcjctor  said  that 
she  would  inevitably  have  perished  had  she  lain  tlierc 
only  a  short  time  longer.  The  next  day  my  friend 
sent  mother  and  son  comfortably  home  to  Ilendon, 
where  they  were  well  known,  and  whence  they  re- 
turned   him    thanks  full   of  gratitude.      Now   go,   ye 


244  "^^^    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

Pharisees  of  all  sorts,  and  try  if  ye  can  still  open 
your  hearts  and  your  doors,  like  the  good  Samaritan. 
This  man  was  himself,  too,  brought  up  in  a  splendid 
mansion,  and  might  have  revelled  and  rioted  in  all 
worldly  goods.  Yet  this  was  one  of  the  most  ordi- 
nary of  his  actions. 

Dear  N.,  I  know  I  cannot  delight  you  more  than 
by  repeating  the  praises  of  another  friend  :  —  so  richly 
in  this  respect  has  heaven  compensated  me,  for  a 
thousand  evils,  in  things  of  which  even  death  cannot 
deprive  me. 

P.  S.  —  Among  other  suburban  dwellers  about 
London,  I  have  omitted  to  mention  in  the  course  of 
this  article,  that  Sir  Thomas  Alore  lived  at  Chelsea  ; 
that  Thomas  Moore  hummed  a  short  time  at  Horn- 
sey  ;  and  that  Coleridge  resides  at  Highgate,  a  "  stroll- 
er with  a  book."  1823. 


DR.  JOHNSON,  THE  DEVIL,  AND  MR. 
COBBETT. 


a  ''  I  ^HE  office  of  the  Register,  and  my  shop,  are  now 
I  at  No.  II  Bolt  Court,  Fleet  Street.  It  is  curious 
that  I  am  now  in  the  very  house  in  which  Old 
Dread-Devil,  Dr.  Johnson,  lived  and  wrote  so  many 
years  !  I  have  been  a  long  while  wanting  to  get  it, 
on  account  of  the  cleanness,  neatness,  and  stillness  of 
the  court,  and  the  nearness  of  the  house  to  the  print- 
ing-office ;  but  until  three  days  ago,  I  was  not  at  all 
aware,  that  the  melancholy  moralist  ever  lived  in  it. 


essAys  and  sketches.  245 

There  is  a  neat  cofTee-housc  in  the  court,  called  '  The 
Dr.  Johnson;'  and  though  I  cannot  forgive  the  doc- 
tor for  having  given,  in  his  own  person,  an  example 
to  illustrate  the  definition  in  his  dictionary,  where, 
against  the  word  '  Pensioner,'  he  puts  a  slave  of 
state ;  though  I  cannot  forgive  him  for  this,  to  see,  as 
I  do.  from  my  window,  his  name  put  over  a  cofiee- 
room,  with  a  view  to  attract  custom  to  it,  is  very 
pleasing:  his  name,  thus  used,  is  a  mark  of  respect 
for  his  great  mental  endowments  and  vast  literary  la- 
bors, while  his  statue  in  St.  Paul's  is  only  a  memorial 
of  his  having  been  a  slave  of  state.''  —  Cobbctfs 
Register. 

We  like  these  self-references  of  Mr.  Cobbett,  when 
his  humanities  are  upon  him,  and  he  has  a  good  word 
to  say  for  another.  A  piece  of  sympathy,  from  him, 
is  the  more  pleasant,  inasmuch  as  he  seems  to  think 
it  to  be  his  duty  to  be  full  of  antipathies  ("  a  good 
hater,"  as  Johnson  called  it),  and  to  push  them  to  the 
utmost.  We  think  he  migiit  relent  a  little  durinsf  this 
fine,  promising  weather  in  the  political  world,  and  give 
us  a  few  more  of  his  ''  primroses"  and  pleasant  an- 
ecdotes. 

Dr.  Johnson  was  one  of  the  last  of  our  great  men, 
who  had  reason,  throughout  life,  to  curse  the  super- 
stition infiicted  upon  him  in  childhood.  Ilis  motiier, 
poor  woman,  when  he  was  just  able  to  learn  what 
she  meant,  was  so  eager  to  impress  upon  iiim  tiie  doc- 
trine of  eternal  punishment,  that  she  not  only  made 
him  get  out  of  his  bed  on  purpose  to  infix  it  the  more 
on  his  recollection,  but  called  up  the  servants  to  aid 
the  calamity.  Mr.  Cobbett,  therefore,  has  too  much 
reason  to  call  him  '"•  Dread-Devil ;  "  but  our  politician, 


246  THE    WISHING-CAP    PA'pERS. 

in  proceeding  to  say  something  to  his  advantage, 
miglit  have  added  another  good  word  Ibr  tlie  "  mel- 
anclioly  morahst,"  since  it  was  into  his  house,  in  this 
verv  Bolt  Court,  if  we  mistake  not,  that  the  doctor, 
who  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  notwithstanding  the 
asperities  of  his  temperament,  acted  the  very  unusual 
Christian  part,  like  a  proper  Samaritan,  of  bringing 
a  poor  girl  on  his  shoulders,  whom  he  found  destitute 
in  the  streets,  putting  her  into  his  own  bed,  making 
her  well,  and  sending  her  home  to  her  relations. 

In  Bolt  Court,  Johnson  wrote  the  Lives  of  the  Poets. 
He  lived  there  from  the  year  1776  till  he  died.  He 
had  a  garden  to  the  house  (Mr.  Cobbett,  who  is  hor- 
ticultural, should  revive  it),  with  stone  seats  at  the 
door.  Boswell  describes  a  conversation  he  had  with 
him  one  day,  when  each  took  a  seat  in  the  open  air, 
and  the  doctor  was  "  in  a  placid  frame  of  mind,  and 
talked  away  easily."  1S30. 


COFFEE-HOUSES  AND   SMOKING. 

SMOKING  has  had  its  vicissitudes,  as  well  as 
other  fashions.  In  Elizabeth's  day,  when  it  first 
came  up,  it  was  a  high  accomplishment :  James  (who 
liked  it  none  the  better  for  its  being  of  Raleigh's  in- 
vention) indignantly  refused  it  the  light  of  his  counte- 
nance :  in  Charles's  time  it  was  dashed  out  by  the 
cannon  ;   lips   had  no  leisure  for  it  under  Charles  the 


KSSAYS    Ax\D    SKKTCHKS.  247 

Second  :  the  clubs  and  the  Dutch  brought  it  back  again 
with  King  WilUam:  it  prevailed  more  or  less  during 
the  reign  of  the  first  two  Georges ;  grew  thin,  and 
died  away  under  George  the  Third  :  and  has  lately 
reappeared,  with  a  flourish  of  Turkish  pipes,  and 
throu<rh  the  milder  medium  of  the  cigar,  under  the 
auspices  of  his  successor. 

The  last  smoker  I  recollect  among  those  of  the  old 
school,  was  a  clergyman.  He  had  seen  the  best  so- 
ciety, and  was  a  man  of  the  most  polished  behavior. 
This  did  not  hinder  him  from  taking  his  pipe  every 
evening  before  he  went  to  bed.  He  sat  in  his  arm- 
chair, his  back  gently  I'ending,  his  knees  a  little  apart, 
his  eyes  placidlv  inclined  towards  the  fire:  and  de- 
lighted, in  the  intervals  of  pufT,  to  recount  anecdotes 
of  the  Alarquis  of  Rockingham  and  "  my  Lord 
Nordi."  The  end  of  his  recreation  was  announced  to 
those  who  had  gone  to  bed,  by  the  tapping  of  the 
bowl  of  his  pipe  upon  the  hob,  for  the  purpose  of 
emptying  it  of  its  ashes.*  Ashes  to  ashes  ;  head  to 
bed.  It  is  a  pity  that  the  long  day  of  life  caiuiot  al- 
ways terminate  as  pleasantly.  Bac(Mi  said  that  tlie 
art  of  making  death-beds  easy  was  among  t!ie  desid- 
erata of  knowledge.  Perhaps,  for  the  most  part,  they 
arc  easier  tlian   the  great   chancellor  imagined  ;    but. 


•  Thii  lover  of  "  the  Rrcit  pl.mt "  was  LcIrIi  Hunt's  filln^r,  wlm,  as  a  smoker, 
is  thus  destribcci  in  The  Aulobingrapliy  of  I.iikIi  Hunt:  "He  was  one  of 
the  gentry  wlio  retained  the  old  fasliion  of  smoking.  He  indulged  in  it  every 
piglit  before  he  went  to  bed,  which  he  did  at  an  early  hour  ;  and  it  was  pleasant 
to  see  him  sit,  in  his  tranquil  and  gentlemanly  mar.ncr,  and  relate  anecdotes  of 
'ray  Lord  North,'  and  the  Rockingham  administration,  interspersed  with  those 
mild  puffs  and  urbane  resumptions  of  the  pipe."  —  Kd. 


248  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

no  doubt,  the  most  conscientious  ones  might  often  be 
bettered.  A  virtuous  man  shall  not  always  take  his 
departure  as  comfortably  as  a  sinner  with  a  livelier 
state  of  diaphragin.  Frenchmen  have  died,  sitting  in 
their  chairs,  fnll-drcssed  and  powdered.  I  have  a 
better  taste  in  mortality  than  that ;  but  I  think  I  could 
drop  oft'  with  a  decent  compromise  between  thought 
and  forgetfulness,  sitting  with  my  pipe  by  a  fireside, 
in  an  old  elbow-chair. 

I  delight  to  think  of  the  times  when  smoking  was 
an  ornament  of  literature,  a  refreshment  and  repose 
to  the  studious  head  ;  vvlien  Hobbes  meditated,  and 
Cowley  built  his  castles  in  those  warmer  clouds,  and 
Dr.  Aldrich  liis  quadrangles.  In  smoking,  you  may 
think  or  not  think,  as  you  please.  If  the  mind  is  ac- 
tively employed,  the  pipe  keeps  it  in  a  state  of  satis- 
faction, supplies  it  with  a  side  luxury,  a  soft  ground 
to  work  upon.  If  you  wish  to  be  idle,  the  successive 
pufls  take  the  place  of  thinking.  There  is  a  negative 
activity  in  it,  that  fills  up  the  place  of  real.  Intruding 
notions  arc  met  with  a  puff  in  their  teeth,  and  puft'ed 
into  nothing.  Studious  men  are  subject  to  a  working 
and  fermenting  of  thought,  when  their  meditations 
would  fain  be  over  :  they  cannot  always  cease  meditat- 
ing. Bacon  was  accustomed  to  takea  draughtof  March 
beer  towards  bedtime,  to  settle  this  aestuary  of  his 
mind.  I  wonder  he  did  not  take  a  pipe,  as  a  gentler 
carrier  oft'  of  that  uneasiness.  Being  a  link  between 
thought  and  no  thought,  one  would  imagine  it  would 
have  been  a  more  advisable  compromise  with  his  state 
of  excitement  than  the  dashing  of  one  stream  upon 
another  in  that  violent  manner,  and  forcing  his  nerves 


ESSAYS   AND    SKETCHES.  249 

to  behave  themselves.  There  are  delicate  heads,  I 
am  aware,  that  cannot  bear  even  a  cigar.  Smoking, 
of  an}'  sort,  makes  too  sudden  an  appeal  to  the  con- 
nection between  their  sensitive  nerves  and  the  stom- 
ach ;  produces  what  the  doctor's  call  predigestion,  and 
is  rebuked  with  a  punishment  of  the  weaker  part,  to 
wit,  the  brain.  Bacon's  might  have  been  such  in  his 
old  age,  after  all  the  service  it  had  seen  ;  but  I  won- 
der, on  that  account,  that  he  resorted  to  the  jolly  and 
fox-hunting  succcdaneum  of  beer.  A  walk  would 
have  been  better.  "  After  study  walk  a  mile."  The 
object  is  to  restore  the  blood  graduallv  to  motion,  ar- 
rested as  it  has  been  with  manv  thoughts,  and  con- 
fused when  they  let  it  go.  Now  a  pipe  is  a  inore 
gradual  restorative  than  a  draught.  As  it  is  a  siiad- 
owing  off  between  thinking  and  no  thinking,  so  it  is  a 
preparer  for  sleep,  and  a  reconciler  with  want  of 
companv. 

But  the  genius  of  smoking,  being  truly  philosophi- 
cal, has  its  love  of  society  too :  and  then  it  resorts  to 
a  cup.  Among  Mr.  Stothard's  agreeable  designs 
for  the  .Spectator,  there  is  one  of  the  club  over  a  table, 
with  their  pipes  and  their  wine.  Captain  Sentry  is 
going  to  ligiit  his  pipe  at  the  candle  ;  Sir  Roger  is 
sitting  with  his  knees  apart,  like  the  old  gentleman  I 
have  been  describing,  in  the  act  of  preparing  his, — 
pcrhajis  thinking  what  a  pretty  tobacco-sto]iper  the 
widow's  finger  would  have  made.  One  longs  to  be 
among  them.  As  I  never  puss  Covent  Garden  (and 
I  pass  it  very  often)  without  thinking  of  all  the  old 
coffee-houses  and  the  wiis,  so  I  can  never  reflect, 
without  impatience,  that  there  are   no  such  meetings 


250  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

nowadays,  and  no  coflec-room  that  looks  as  if  it 
woidd  suit  them.  People  confine  themselves  too 
much  to  their  pews  and  boxes.  In  former  times 
there  was  a  more  humane  openness  of  intercourse. 
Different  parties  had  indeed  their  respective  places 
of  resort ;  a  natural  consequence  of  politics,  perhaps 
of  letters ;  but  this  prevented  luigraceful  quarrels. 
Hostility  might  get  in,  but  was  obliged  to  behave  itself. 
Dryden,  wdio  was  the  object  of  attack  to  an  increasing 
horde  of  scribblers,  was  never  insulted  in  his  coffee- 
house. Even  the  bravos  of  Lord  Rochester,  or  who- 
ever it  was  that  had  him  waylaid  in  Rose  Alley,  did 
not  venture  to  disturb  the  peace  of  his  symposium. 
The  room  in  which  he  sat  is  described  as  open  to  all 
comers,  and  lie  occupied  a  prominent  part  in  it.  In 
winter  a  place  was  sacred  for  iiim  at  the  fireside. 

I  confess,  if  I  were  a  wit,  I  would  rather  have  a 
room  to  myself  and  friends.  I  should  like  to  be  pub- 
lic only  in  my  books.  But  this  is  a  taste  origina- 
ting in  the  times.  Dr3'dcn  was  a  modest  man  in  his 
intercourse ;  and  was  never  charged,  I  believe, 
among  all  the  accusations  of  vanity  brought  against 
him,  of  being  the  vainer  for  frequenting  a  coffee- 
room.  Being  a  lover  of  wits,  I  should  like  to  see 
the  times  alter  in  this  respect,  and  the  great  men 
of  all  parties  become  visible.  But  where  could  they 
be  so?  Where  could  the  pleasant  fellows  among 
our  existing  Whigs  and  Tories  take  up  one  of  their 
respective  tabernacles,  and  make  a  religion  of  our 
going  to  hear  them,  and  aspiring  to  a  pinch  out  of 
their  snull-boxes?  1  was  tlainking  of  tliis,  as  I 
passed  througb  Covent   Garden    the    other  evening. 


ESSAYS   AND    SKETCHES.  25 1 

Above  all,  said  I,  where  could  we  have  the  w-hole 
warmth  of  the  intercourse  revived,  the  Spectator's 
tobacco-pipe  and  all,  especially  when  it  is  no  longer 
the  fashion  to  drink  wine?  It  would  take  a  great 
deal  to  fetch  Englishmen  again  out  of  their  boxes. 
They  do  not  allow  smoking  in  the  best  coffee-houses  ; 
and  where  they  do,  so  many  other  things  are  allowed, 
that  no  gentleman  would  remain.  Where  shall  I 
place  my  imaginary  coterie,  and  fancy  myself  listen- 
ing to  the  Drydens  and  Addisons  of  the  day?  It 
is  the  fashion  now  for  your  wilder  writers  in  mag- 
azines to  patronize,  or  pretend  to  patronize,  some 
house  of  call,  or  vociferation,  the  mediocrity  of  which 
shall  give  them  an  air  of  vigor  and  defiance  in  the 
patronage,  and  prove  them  men  of  originality.  There 
is  something  pleasant  in  this  where  it  is  not  an  af- 
fectation of  superiority  to  prejudice,  arising  out  of  an 
absolute  sense  to  the  contrary,  and  betraying  itself 
by  a  tone  of  bullying.  But  real  or  not,  and  with 
all  my  regard  for  those  honest  houses,  where  the 
only  sopiiisticatc  thing  is  the  presence  of  some  of 
their  panegyrists,  they  will  not  do  for  the  purpose 
before  us.  Due  is  my  consideration  for  the  Dog  and 
the  Coal-Jiolc :  pungent  my  sense  of  tlie  ChcsJiire 
Cheese:  the  Hole  in  the  Wall  has  a  snug  apjJclia- 
tion  ;  and  as  for  Dolly's  Beef-Steak  House,  great 
would  be  my  ingratitude,  did  I  forget  its  hot  pewter- 
plate,  new  bread,  floury  potatoes,  foaming  pot  of 
porter,  and  perfect  beefsteak.  The  man  that  cannot 
enjoy  a  beef^^teak  there,  can  enjoy  a  stomacii  no- 
wi)cre.  But  it  is  not  what  I  was  seeking  the  otlier 
night.     Neither  is  the  Humininns,  nor  the   Bedford, 


252  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

nor    the    Piazza,     nor    the    Southampton,     nor    the 
Salopian.* 

During  these  meditations,  I  approach  my  friend 
Gliddon's  snutl"  and  tobacco-shop,  in  King  Street. 
Ay,  here,  said  I,  is  wherewithal  to  lill  the  boxes  of  the 
Steeles  and  Congrevcs,  and  the  pipes  of  the  Aldriches 
and  vSir  Roger  de  Coverleys.  But  whei'e  is  the  room 
in  which  we  can  fancy  them?  Where  is  the  coffee- 
house to  match?  Where  the  union  of  a  certain  do- 
mestic comfort  with  publicity,  —  journals  of  literature 
as  well  as  news,  —  a  fire  visible  to  all,  —  cups  with- 
out inebriety, — smoking  without  vulgarity?  On  a 
sudden,  I  find  carriages  stopping  at  the  door  ;  I  rec- 
ognize an  acquaintance  of  mine,  a  member  of  Par- 
liament, who  does  not  easily  come  out  of  his  way 
to  fill  a  snuff-box :  I  hear  a  gentleman  inquiring 
about  the  coflee-room,  and  '•  whether  Prince  Ester- 
hazy  is  to  be  turned  away  again  by  a  stress  of  com- 
pany." I  enter,  and  ask  my  old  acquaintance  what 
miracle  he  has  been  about.  He  points  to  a  board 
in  his  shop,  and  then  takes  me  through  a  door  in 
the  wall  into  the  very  room  that  I  was  looking  for. 
It  was  rather  two  rooms  thrown  into  one,  and  with 
a  fire  in  each  ;  a  divan    of   ample  dimensions    runs 


•  The  Salopian  House  is  immortalized  in  Elia's  essay  on  The  Praise  of  Chim- 
ney-Sweepeis.  It  was  at  the  Southampton  tavern  that  Hazlitt's  "  Coffee- House 
Politicians  "  met  to  read  the  papers  and  discuss  the  news  of  the  day.  The  Bed- 
ford Coffee-House  was  frequented  by  Colman  and  Thornton,  the  lively  authors  of 
the  Connoisseur.  "This  coffee-house,"  says  Mr.  Town,  in  his  survey  of 
London,  "  is  every  night  crowded  with  men  of  parts.  Almost  every  one  you 
meet  is  a  polite  scholar  and  a  wit.  Jokes  and  bon  ?nots  are  echoed  from  box  to 
box;  every  branch  of  literature  is  crit.cally  examined,  and  the  merits  of  every  pro- 
duction of  ihe  press,  or  performance  at  the  theatre,  weighed  and  determined."  — 
Connoisseur,  No.  i.  —  Ed. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  253 

round  it;  lamps  of  ground  glass  diftlise  a  soft,  yet 
sufficing  light ;  the  floor  is  carpeted  ;  two  cheerful 
fires  ofier  double  facility  of  approach,  a  twofold 
provocation  to  poke  and  be  self-possessed  ;  around 
are  small  mahogany  tables,  with  chairs,  in  addition 
to  the  divan  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  all,  stands  a  large 
one,  profusely  covered  with  the  periodical  works  of 
the  day,  newspapers,  magazines,  and  publications 
that  come  out  in  numbers.  I  sit  down,  and  am 
initiated  with  the  hospitality  due  to  an  old  friend. 
in  all  the  amenities  of  tlie  place.  A  cigar  and  an 
excellent  cup  of  coflce  are  served.  "  But  will  you 
have  as  good  coflec  at  the  end  of  the  year?"  — 
"  Can  you  ask  me  that  question,  Mr.  Honeycomb  * 
—  you,  who  have  known  mc  long?"  —  "Well,  if 
anybody  that  ever  kept  a  shop  can  do  it,  it  is  you  : 
and  1  tell  you  what ;  —  if  you  do,  depend  upon  it, 
no  success  will  be  like  yours.  Good  fortune  produces 
abuse  of  it ;  but  the  abuse  is  always  as  impolitic, 
compared  with  a  genuine  policy,  as  cunning  is  in- 
ferior to  wisdom.  If  there  were  any  one  shop  in 
London,  in  which  the  customer  for  a  series  of  years 
were  sure  to  find  one  undeviating  goodness  of  arti- 
cle,  the  phenomenon  would  attract  and  retain  all 
eyes.  And  these  cigars  :  the  boy  tells  me  thc\'  are 
excellent  also.  Is  this  true?"  —  "I  can  icll 
you  one  thing  they  say  of  them,  by  which  you  ma\ 
judge  for  yourself;  they  say  they  are  smuggled."  — 
"  O,  ho  !  " 

"And  snatch  a  grace  beyouri  the  reach  of  law." 

•  Thi«  paper  was  published  undor  the  signature  of  Harry  Honeycomb,  a  pre- 
tended dcKcodant  of  the  famous  Will  Hou':yconib  of  the  Spectator.  —  £0. 


254  'THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPKRS. 

You  know  how  the  law  picked  my  pocket  once. 
Before  that  time,  I  was  so  tender  of  conscience, 
that  when  I  was  at  Hastings  I  would  not  pur- 
chase a  toy  or  a  pair  of  gloves  that  was  contra- 
bantl  ;■  whereas  no-v  —  I  will  not  ask  you  to  make 
me  certain  whether  the  articles  are  smufjgfled  or  not 
—  say  no  more  —  rest  your  insinuating  fame  on  that. 
But  a  prettier-tasted  cigar  —  a  leaf  with  a  finer  tip  of 
flavor  in  it,  —  pi'ay,  how  many  cigars  might  a  man 
smoke  of  an  evening?  I  have  a  great  mind  to  try. 
But  I  must  look  at  your  publications.  By  the  way, 
you  have  no  pipes,  I  see  ;  and  I  observe  no  bottles. 
Have  you  neither  pipes  nor  wine?"  —  "No,  we  are 
exclusively  cigar  ;  we  have  coflcc,  sherbet,  lemonade, 
all  reasonable  Oriental  drinks  to  harmonize  with  our 
divan,  but  noticing  to  disturb  the  peace  of  it.  Thus 
we  secure  a  certain  domestic  elegance  in-doors,  and 
can  prevent  drunkards  from  coming  in  to  get  drunker. 
A  gentleman  may  come  from  his  dining  or  drawing- 
room,  and  still  find  himself  in  a  manner  at  home. 
Besides,  a  cigar  is  the  mildest  as  well  as  most  fash- 
ionable form  of  tobacco-taking ;  and  as  it  is  no  longer 
the  mode  to  drink  wine,  wine  is  not   sought  after."  * 


*  In  ihe  article  entitled  Of  the  Sight  of  Shops,  as  published  in  the  original 
edition  of  the  Indicator,  there  is  a  very  graceful  and  handsoine  mention  of  Mr. 
Honeycomb's  fiicnd  Gliddon.of  King  Street,  formerly  of  No.  31  Tavistock  Street. 

"  We  presume  that  snuff-takers  delight  to  solace  themselves  with  a  pinch  of 
Thirty-seven  ;  and  we  accordingly  do  so  in  imasination  at  our  friend  Gliddon's  in 
Tavistock  Street,  who  is  a  higher  kind  of  Lilly  to  the  Indicator,  —  our  papers  lying 
among  the  piquant  snuffs,  as  those  of  our  illustrious  predecessor  The  Tatler  did 
among  Mr.  Lilly's  perfumes  at  the  corner  of  Beaufort  Buildings.  Since  the 
peace  with  France,  the  shops  of  our  tobacconists  have  become  as  amusing  as 
print-shops ;  though  not  always,  it  must  be  confessed,  in  a  style  of  delicacy  be- 
coming iheir  enamoured  boxes.     At  our  friend's  in  Tavistock  Street  everything  w 


ESSAYS    AXD    SKETCHES. 


'?D 


—  '•  That  is  all  very  good  for  you  ;  but  for  mc,  who 
have  been  casting  a  wistful  eye,  as  I  came  along,  at 
the  old  haunts  of  Sir  Roger  and  his  friends,  I  confess 
it  is  a  drawback  on  a  certain  fancy  I  liad,  when  I  first 
came  in.  However,  we  must  consider  what  Steele 
and  Addison  would  have  liked  had  they  lived  now, 
and  witnessed  the  ctVect  of  the  Spectators  of  other  men. 
It  is  they  that  have  helped  to  ruin  their  own  pipes  and 
wine,  and  given  us  a  greater  taste  for  literature  and 
domebticity  ;  and  I  comfort  myself  with  concluding, 
that  they  would  have  come  here,  at  least  after  their 
bottle,  to  take  their  cot^ee  and  look  over  your  papers 
and  magazines.  There  he  sits,  over  the  vvay,  — 
Steele,  I  mean,  —  the  man  with  the  short  face;  for  I 
perceive  there  is  wit  at  that  table.  Opposite  hi  in  is 
Addison,  in  black,  looking  something  like  a  master 
in  chancery.  The  handsome  man,  always  on  the  gig- 
gle, must  be  Rowe  ;  and  the  other  one,  an  officer,  is 
Colonel  Brett.  Butwiio  is  this  tall  formal  personage 
coming  up.'  Look  at  him,  —  the  very  man,  Ambrose 
Phillips.  Who  would  think  that  his  muse  was  a  lit- 
tle dancer  in  octosyllables, —  a  dandier  of  young 
ladies  of  quality.''  " 

Mine  host  left  me  alone  to  complete  my  initiation. 
Another  cup  of  coffee  was  brought  me,  and  live  sev- 
eral publications;  to  wit,  a  newspaper,  a  twopenny 
sheet,  a  inimber  to  be  continued,  a  magazine,  and  a 
review;   for  I  ;'.m   fond    of  having  too  many  l)Ooks  at 

m.-inagcd  in  a  way  equally  delicate  and  cordi.il ;  and  while  the  leisurely  man  of 
taXc  buys  liis  Paris  or  liis  Indicator,  the  busier  one  m.iy  kMrn  how  to  set  up  liis 
gas-light  in  good  cListical  itylc,  and  both  see  how  completely  even  a  woman  of 
true  feelings,  can  retain  the  easiest  and  pleasanlest  good-breeding  in  the  midst 
of  observant  eves  ^nd  humb>c  occupation  "  —  V.^ 


256  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

once.  I  looked  over  these,  and  then,  contented  with 
the  power  to  read  them  further,  continued  giving 
bland  pufis  to  my  cigar,  and'  speculating  around  me. 
The  conversations  were  maintained  in  very  quiet 
and  sfentlcmanlv  tones :  now  and  then  was  heard 
the  sound  of  a  leaf  turning  over;  sometimes  a  hem, 
consequential  or  otherwise;  my  own  puffs  were  al- 
ways distinguishable  to  myself;  and  at  intervals  I 
could  discern  those  of  others,  and  hear  the  social 
crackling  of  the  fire.  No  noisy  altercation  here  ;  no 
sanded  floors  or  cold  feet ;  no  impatient  waiting  for  the 
newspaper  ;  *  while  the  person  in  possession  keeps 
it  the  longer  because  you  wait :  all  is  warm,  easy, 
quiet,  abundant,  satisfactory. 

I  conclude  the  principal  visitors  of  the  divan  to  be 
theatre-goers,  officers  who  have  learnt  to  love  a  cigar 
on  service,  men  of  letters,  and  men  of  fortune  who 
have  a  taste  for  letters,  and  can  whirl  themselves  from 
their  own  firesides  to  these.  If  you  are  in  the  city,  on 
business,  go  for  a  steak  to  Dolly's  ;  if  midway  between 
City  and  West  End,  go  to  the  first  clean-looking  lar- 
der you  come  to  ;  if  a  man  of  fashion,  and  you  must 
dine  in  your  altitudes,  go  to  the  Clarendon  ;  but  after 
any  of  these,  man  of  fashion  or  not,  go  if  you  can,  and 
get  your  cigar  and  your  cup  of  coffee  at  Gliddon's. 
It  is  finishing  with  a  grace  and  a  repose. 

By  the  way,  I  spent  a  pretty  afternoon  the  other 
day.  It  was  a  complete  thing,  one  thing  excepted : 
but  —  she's  at  Paris.     I  dined,  I  will  not  say  how 


•  As  at  Nando's.  "  What  an  eternal  time  that  gentleman  in  black,  at  Nan- 
do's,  keeps  the  paper  !  I  am  sick  of  hearing  the  waiters  bawling  out  incessantly, 
'  The  Chronicle  is  in  hand,  sir.'"  —  Elia's  Detached  Thoughts  on  Books  and 
Reading.  —  Ed. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  257 

early  ;  but  took  only  a  couple  glasses  of  wine  ;  which 
will  retrieve  my  character  on  that  point.  I  then  made 
tour  of  the  book-stalls,  at  Covent-Garden  ;  bought 
some  comedies  and  a  Catullus  ;  went  to  the  theatre, 
and  saw  Der  Freyschutz  and  Charles  the  Second  ;  re- 
issued from  among  the  perukes,  with  a  gallant  sense 
about  my  head  and  shoulders,  as  if  I  carried  one  my- 
self; went  and  settled  my  faculties  over  a  cup  of  the 
New  Monthly  atCliddon's;  got  home  by  eleven  (fori 
would  not  go  to  a  party  where  she  was  not)  ;  and  fell 
to  sleep  at  the  words  "  Lulling  hope,"  in  a  song  I  am 
writing.  1S26. 


WIT  MADE  EASY,  OR  A  HINT  TO  WORD- 
CATCHERS. 

A.  Here  comes  B.,  the  liveliest  yet  most  tiresome 
of  word-catclicrs.  I  wonder  whether  he'll  have  wit 
enough  to  hear  good  news  of  his  mistress.  Well,  B., 
my  dear  boy,  I  hope  I  see  you  well. 

13.  I  hope  you  do,  my  dear  A.,  otherwise  you  have 
lost  your  eyesight. 

A.     Good.     Well,  how  do  you  do.^ 

/?.  How.''  Why,  as  other  people  do.  You  would 
not  iiavc  me  eccentric,  would  you? 

A.  Nonsense.      I  mean  hf>wd()  you  lind  yourscH"? 

B.  Find  myself.  Wliere's  the  necessity  of  finding 
myself?     I  have  not  been  lost. 

A.     Incorrigible  dog !     Come  now,  t(j  be  serious. 

»7 


25S  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

{B.  comes  closer  to  A.  and  looks  very  serious.) 

A.     Well,  what  now? 

£.     I  am  come  to  be  serious. 

A.  Come,  now ;  nonsense,  B.  ;  leave  off  this. 
(^Laybig  his  hand  on  his  arm.) 

B  {looking-  down  at  his  arm).  I  can't  leave  off 
this.  It  would  look  very  absurd  to  go  without  a 
sleeve. 

A.  Ah,  ha  !  You  make  me  laugh,  in  spite  of  my- 
self.    How's  Jackson  } 

B.  The  deuce  !  How's  Jackson  !  Well,  I  never 
should  have  thought  that.  How  can  Howe  be  Jack- 
son ?  "  Surname  and  arms,"  I  suppose,  of  some  rich 
uncle?     I  have  not  seen  him  gazetted? 

A.  Good  by. 

B .  {detaining  him) .  "  Good  by  !  "  What  a  sud- 
den enthusiasm  in  favor  of  some  virtuous  man  of  the 
name  of  By !  "Good  by!"  To  think  of  Ashton 
standing  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  doting  aloud  on 
the  integrity  of  a  Mr.  By  ! 

A.  Ludicrous  enough.  I  can't  help  laughing,  I 
confess.  But  laughing  does  not  always  imply  merri- 
ment. You  do  not  delight  us,  Jack,  with  these  sort 
of  jokes,  but  tickle  us  ;  and  tickling  may  give  pain. 

B.  Don't  accept  it,  then.  You  need  not  take 
everything  that  is  given  you. 

A.  You'll  want  a  straight-forward  answer  some 
day,  and  then  — 

B.  You'll  describe  a  circle  about  me,  before  you 
give  it.  Well,  that's  your  affair,  not  mine.  You'll 
astonish  the  natives,  that's  all. 

A.     It's  great  nonsense,  you  must  allow. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  259 

B.  I  can't  see  why  it  is  greater  nonsense  than  any 
other  pronoun. 

A.  {in  despair^.      Well,  it's  of  no  use,  I  see. 

B.  Excuse  me  :  it  is  of  the  very  greatest  use.  I 
don't  know  a  part  of  speech  more  useful.  It  performs 
all  the  greatest  offices  of  nature,  and  contains,  in  fact, 
the  whole  aj^encv  and  mvsterv  of  the  world.  It  rains. 
It  is  fine  weather.  It  freezes.  It  thaws.  It  (which 
is  very  odd)  is  one  o'clock.  "  It  has  been  a  very 
frequent  observation."  It  goes.  Here  it  goes.  IIow 
goes  it.'  —  (which,  by  the  way,  is  a  translation  from 
the  Latin  Eo^  is  it ;  Eo^  I  go  ;  is  thou  goest ;  it,  he  or 
it  goes."     In  short  — 

A.  In  short,  if  I  wanted  a  dissertation  on  it,  now's 
the  time  for  it.  But  1  don't ;  so  good  by.  (  Going.) 
—  I  saw  Miss  M last  night. 

B.  The  devil  you  did  !     Where  was  it? 

A.  {to  himself).  Now  I  have  him,  and  will  re- 
venge myself.  Where  was  it,  eh.?  O,  you  must 
know  a  great  deal  more  about  it  than  I  do  ! 

B.  Nay,  my  dear  fellow,  do  tell  me.  I'm  on 
thorns. 

A.  Ot\  th.orns !  very  odd  thorns.  I  never  saw  a 
thorn  look  so  like  a  pavement. 

B.  Come,  now,  to  be  serious. 

{A.  comes  close  to  B..,  and  looks  tragic.) 
B.     He,  he  !  very  fair,  egad.    But  do  tell  me  where 
was  she.     How  did  she  look?     Who  was  with  her? 

A.  O,  ho  I  IIoo  was  with  hci,  was  he.'  Well,  I 
wanted  to  know  his  name.  I  could  not  tell  who  the 
devil  it  was.     But  I  say.  Jack,  who's  IIoo.' 

B.  Good.     He,    he!     Devilish    fair!     But    now, 


26o  THE    WISllING-CAP    PAPERS. 

my  dear  Will,  for  God's  sake,  you  know  how  inter- 
ested I  am. 

A.  The  deuce  you  are  !  I  always  took  you  for  a 
disinterested  fellow.  I  always  said  of  Jack  B.,  Jack's 
apt  to  ovei-do  his  credit  for  wit ;  but  a  more  honest, 
disinterested  fellow  I  never  met  with. 

J5.  Well,  then,  as  you  think  so,  be  merciful.  Where 
is  Miss  M ? 

A.  This  is  more  astonishing  news  than  any.    Ware 

is  Miss  M .     I  know  her  passion   for   music  ;  but 

this  is  wonderful.  Good  heavens  !  To  think  of  a 
delicate  young  lady  dressing  herself  in  man's  clothes, 
and  going  about  as  a  musician  under  the  name  of 
Ware. 

B.  Now,  my  dear  Will,  consider.  I  acknowledge 
I  have  been  tiresome  ;  I  confess  it  is  a  bad  habit,  this 
word-catching;  but  consider  my  love. 

{^A.falls  into  an  attitude  of  musing.') 
B.     Well. 

A.  Don't  interrupt  me.  I  am  considering  your 
love. 

B.  I  repent ;  I  am  truly  sorry.  What  shall  I 
do?  {Layittg-  his  hand  on  his  heart.)  I'll"  give  up 
this  cursed  habit. 

A.  You  will. ^     Upon  honor? 

B.  Upon  my  honor. 

A.  On  the  spot? 

B.  Now,  this  instant.     Now  and  forever! 

A.  Strip  away,  then. 

B.  Strip!     For  what? 

A.     You  said  you'd  give  up  that  cursed  habit. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  26 1 

B.  Now,  my  dear  A.,  for  the  love  of  everything 
that  is  sacred,  for  the  love  of  your  own  love. 

A.  Well,  you  promise  me  sincerely.'' 

B.  Heart  and  soul ! 

A.  Step  over  the  way,  then,  into  the  cofiee-house, 
and  I'll  tell  you. 

Street  Szveeper.  Please,  your  honor,  pray  remem- 
ber the  poor  swape. 

B.  My  friend,  I'll  never  forget  you,  if  that  will 
be  of  any  service.     I'll  think  of  you  next  year. 

A.  What,  again? 

B.  The  last  time,  as  I  hope  to  be  saved.  Here, 
my  friend,  there's  a  shilling  for  you.  Charity  covers 
a  multitude  of  bad  jokes. 

Street  Sweeper.  God  send  your  honor  thousands 
of  them. 

B.     The  jokes  or  the  shillings,  you  rascal? 

Street  Sweeper.  Och,  the  shillings.  Divil  a  bit 
the  bad  jokes.  I  can  make  them  myself,  and  a  shil- 
ling's no  joke,  anyhow. 

A.  What?  really  silent?  and  in  spite  of  the  dog's 
equivocal  Irish  face?  Come,  B.,  I  now  see  you  can 
give  up  a  jest,  and  art  really  in  love  ;  and  your  mis- 
tress, I  will  undertake  to  say,  will  not  be  sorry  to 
be  convinced  of  both.  Women  like  to  begin  with 
merriment  well  enough  ;  but  they  think  ill  of  a  man 
who  cannot  come  to  a  grave  conclusion. 
1825. 


262  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


THE   FENCING-MASTER'S   CHOICE. 

AS  we  have  a  great  aversion  to  the  repetition 
of  old  jokes,  and  in  our  ignorance  of  what 
is  going  forward  in  the  festive  parts  of  the  town, 
can  never  be  certain  that  any  story  we  take  for  a 
new  one  is  not  well  known,  we  always  feel  inclined 
to  preface  a  relation  of  this  kind  with  something 
that  should  serve  for  an  apology  in  case  of  necessi- 
ty, or  give  it  a  new  grace  in  default  of  newness  of 
a  better  sort.  And  this  reflection  always  reminds 
us  of  that  pl^^asant  Milanese,  wliom  nature  made  a 
wag  and  a  jolly  fellow,  and  Francis  the  First  made 
a  bishop ;  to  wit.  Master  Matthew  Bandello,  the 
best  Italian  novelist,  after  Boccaccio,  and  one  who 
could  tell  a  grave  story  as  well  as  a  merry  one. 
Monsignore  Matteo,  before  he  proceeds  to  relate 
how  '"'' a  jealous  enamoured  himself"  of  a  young 
widow,  or  how  a  pleasant  "  beff'"  was  put  upon  a 
priest  who  became  "furious  of  it,"  and  "remained 
stordited,"  makes  a  point  of  informing  the  reader 
where  he  first  heard  the  story,  who  told  it,  and  in 
whose  company,  and  how  much  better  it  was  told 
than  he,  with  his  Lom.bardisins,  can  have  any  pre- 
tence to  repeat  it ;  on  all  which  accounts  he  wishes 
to  God,  that  people  could  have  heard  it  fresh  from 
the  lips. of  that  very  amiable  and  magnificent  Sig- 
nor,  the  before-mentioned  Signor  Antonio,  whom  he 
recollects  as  if  it  was  but  yesterday,  because  lie  was 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  363 

standing  at  the  time  with  a  right  joyous  and  gen- 
teel company,  by  the  balustrade  of  the  gardens  of 
the  very  illustrious  and  most  adorned  Signor,  his 
singularly  noble  friend  the  Signor  Gherardesco  dei 
Gherardi,  Conte  di  Cuv^iano,  where  there  happened 
to  be  present  the  ladies  equally  eminent  for  their 
high  birth  and  most  excellent  endowments,  to  wit, 
the  right  courteous,  virtuous,  and  most  beautifid  la- 
dies the  Lady  Vittoria,  Princess  of  Colombano,  and 
the  Lady  Hippolita  d'Estc,  widow  of  the  most  valor- 
ous and  magnificent  Signor,  the  ever-memorable  Al- 
fonso.  Prince  of  Fcrrara  ;  whicH  ladies,  being  very 
aflectionate  towards  all  argute  sayings  and  witty  deeds, 
did  nigh  burst  themselves  for  laughter,  in  the  which 
the  very  illustrious  Signor  Gherardesco  aforesaid  did 
heartily  join,  to  the  great  contentment  of  that  princely 
company,  and  all  who  overheard  those  urbane  con- 
ceits and  most  graceful  phrases,  which  he  (the  bisiiop) 
utterly  despairs  of  rendering  anything  the  like  to  the 
reader.  But  he  will  do  his  best;  and  as  the  story  is 
exceedingly  curious  (to  wit,  a  little  free),  he  had  ad- 
dressed it  to  the  right  virtuous  and  most  adorned  witli 
all  feminine  dowries,  tiic  Lady  Lucretia  di  San  Don- 
nato,  in  return  for  one  of  a  like  nature  which  she  was 
graciously  pleased  to  relate  to  him  one  day  ;  to  wit,  on 
the  eve  of  the  day  of  Corpus  Domini,  sitting  in  the 
windows  of  the  Palazzo  Rosjioli,  at  that  time  inhabit- 
ed by  the  very  magnificent,  most  adorned,  and  most 
worthily  given  Signor,  the  Signor  Prince  Cesare  Olto- 
boni,  nephew  of  the  most  Holy  Fatlier. 

By  this  process,  the  reader  feels  bound   to  like  the 
story,  if  only  out  of  a  proper  sense  of  the  comjjany  he 


264  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

is  in,  and  the  respect  that  is  clue  to  all  those  fair  and 
magnificent  names  ;  and  then  follows  the  novella^  or 
new  tale,  perhaps  not  at  all  new,  and  no  longer  than 
the  one  we  are  about  to  relate. 

We  should  like  to  call  to  ourselves  an  aid  of  this 
sort,  and  be  able  at  the  head  of  every  one  of  our  stories 
to  state  how  it  was  told  us  by  this  person  or  that ;  how 
that,  sitting  one  day  in  the  gardens  of  Kensington,  at 
a  time  when  the  dust  of  the  sti'eets  rendered  an  escape 
into  those  green  and  quiet  places  agreeable,  we  had 
the  pleasure  of  hearing  it  from  the  lips  of  that  very 
adorned  and  witty  Mister,  the  Reverend  Mister  Sam- 
uel Smith,  or  the  extremely  magnificent  and  choice  in 
his  neckcloths,  the  admired  Mr.  Tomlinson  ;  or  how, 
dining  with  the  very  magnificent  and  grave  Esquire, 
the  Squire  Jinks,  of  Jinks  Hall,  it  was  related  to  usby 
the  facetious  and  extremely  skilled  in  languages,  the 
bachelor  of  arts,  the  hopeful  Dick  Watts,  cousin  of 
the  high  born  and  most  beautiful  lady,  the  Lady  Bar- 
bara Jinks,  consort  of  the  said  esquire,  who,  being  at 
that  moment  in  the  act  of  swallowing  a  cherry,  was 
nigh  to  have  thrown  all  the  lovers  of  wit  and  elegance 
in  those  parts  into  mourning,  in  consequence  of  the 
extreme  difficulty  she  found  in  swallowing  the  fruit 
and  the  facetiosity  at  once. 

The  story  is  this :  that  in  the  year  of  cur  Lord  one 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  ninety-nine,  the  celebrat- 
ed fencing -master,  Monsieur  de  la  Rue,  being  at  that 
time  fencing-master  to  the  gentlemen  of  the  University 
of  Cambridge,  and  grievously  tormented  in  his  voca- 
tion by  the  said  gentlemen,  who  made  no  end  of  mim- 
icking his  grimaces,  groaning  out  of  measure  at  his 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  265 

thrusts,  not  repenting  at  his  remonstrances,  and  show- 
ing themselves  otherwise  insensible  of  the  dignity  and 
painstaking  of  his  profession,  did  one  day, -towards 
the  end  of  the  month  of  June,  the  weather  being  hot, 
the  said  Monsieur  de  la  Rue  in  his  jacket  and  niglit- 
cap,  and  divers  of  the  said  gentlemen  standing  idly 
about,  laughing  and  making  a  vain  sport,  instead  of 
pinking  him,  as  they  ought  to  have  done,  —  he,  the 
said  Monsieur  de  la  Rue,  did,  I  say,  then  and  there  sit 
down  on  the  floor  in  the  room  in  which  he  was  fen- 
cing, and  placing,  one  on  each  side  of  him,  the  two  foils 
which  he  then  happened  to  be  holding  in  his  hands, 
and  being  provoked  out  of  the  ordinary  measure  of 
his  patience  by  the  eternal  gibes  and  ungrateful  levi- 
ties of  those  his  tormentors,  the  said  gentlemen,  was 
moved  to  utter  the  following  speech,  or  represen- 
tation expostulatory  ;  which  he  did  with  great  passion 
and  vehemence,  his  eyes  wide  open,  his  hands  and 
face  trerribling,  and  emphasis  rising  at  every  sen- 
tence :  — 

"  Jcntlemcns,  — 

"  If  Got  Alniaighty  —  vere  to  come  down  from  hev- 
ven^  —  anil  vere  to  say  to  mc,  '  Monsieur  de  la  Rue^ 

—  vill  you  be  fencing-master  at  Osford  orCambreege, 

—  or  vill  you  be  etairnally  dam?  '  — 
"  I  should  answer  and  say,  — 

"  '  Sake,  —  if  it  is  all  the  same  to  you,  —  I  vill  be 

ETAIRNAM.Y  dam.'  " 

1S2S. 


266  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


TWILIGHT  ACCUSED   AND   DEFENDED. 

A  MONSTROUS  thing  has  happened.  Here  is 
a  correspondent  of  ours,  and  a  pleasant  one  too, 
and  witty  withal,  aiming  a  blow  at  our  gentle  friend, 
Twilight !  What  possible  mood  could  he  have  been 
in.?  Did  he  expect  a  friend  who  had  disappointed 
him.-*  or  a  new  book?  or  a  letter?  Was  his  last  bot- 
tle of  wine  out?  Or  did  he  want  his  tea?  Or  was 
he  reading  and  could  not  go  on,  the  servant  not  being 
in  the  way  to  bring  candles?  Or  was  the  evening 
rainy?  Or  had  he  said  anything  wrong  to  any  one 
else,  and  so  was  out  of  temper?  Or  had  he  been 
reading  something  about  twilight,  badly  written,  a 
"  twaddle,"  and  so  was  disposed  to  go  to  an  extreme 
the  other  way,  and  be  perverse  in  his  wit?  His  first 
verse  looks  like  it.  Or  had  he  a  toothache?  or  a 
headache?  or  nothing  to  do?  Or  had  his  fire  gone 
out? 

We  should  almost  as  soon  have  expected  a  blow 
from  him  at  gentleness  itself,  as  at  our  gentle  dusk 
friend,  the  mildest  and  most  unpresuming  of  the 
Hours,  meek,  yet  genial  withal,  like  some  loving  j\fes- 
tiza^  or  Qiiadroon,  something  between  fair  and  dark, 
or  dusk  and  dusker,  who,  by  her  sweet  middle  tone 
between  merit  and  the  want  of  pretension,  and  by 
having  nothing  to  arrogate,  and  much  to  be  prized, 
Ciiarms  the  amorous  heart  of  some  contemplative 
West  Indian,  who  is  tired  out  between  the  flare  of 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  267 

his  whiter  favorites,  and  the  undiscerning  presump- 
tion of  his  bhick.  Certain  it  is,  that,  vehemently 
howsoever  he  speaketh,  we  hold  him  not  to  be  in 
earnest  (the  less  so  by  i^eason  of  that  enormity)  ; 
but,  in  order  to  prevent  the  peril  of  any  false  con- 
clusions, in  minds  accustomed  not  to  such  facetious 
perversity,  and  still  more  to  take  the  opportunity  of 
vindicating  the  character  of  our  gentle  friend,  and 
make  our  correspondent  remorseful  the  next  time 
he  sees  her  (for  having  even  appeared  to  treat  her 
ill),  we  have  thought  it  incumbent  upon  us  to  fol- 
low up  his  hard  v/ords  with  others  more  fitly  soft 
and  overwhelmingly  balmy.  O,  there  is  nothing  like 
defending  a  good  easy  cause,  and  a  tender-hearted 
client !  It  makes  one,  somehow,  so  sure  of  triumph, 
so  able  to  trample  on  one's  enemy  with  the  softest 
foot  and  the  most  generous  reputation  —  so  gifted 
(dare  we  say  it.'')  with  the  pleasure  of  malignity  by 
the  very  exercise  of  benevolence.  Mark  you,  dear 
reader,  with  wiiat  a  tender  savageness  we  will  set 
him  down.  Yet  he  rails  in  good  set  terms.  There 
is  no  denying  that.  Far  be  it  from  us  to  deny  it, 
who  shall  only  gain  the  greater  joraise  from  our  ref- 
utation. Hear  him  how  he  sets  out  with  the  ingen- 
ious Impudence  of  his  pun  and  his  alliteration  :  — 

A  TRIMMING   FOR  TWILIGHT. 

How  I  (icspiitc  the  (waddle  about  twilight. 
That  most  unocrviccable  sort  of  sky-light ; 
Weak,  wavering  gleam,  that,  wending  on  its  way 
Toward*  the  night,  still  lingers  with  the  day. 


268  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

Twilight's  a  half-and-half  affair,  that  would 
With  all  its  heart  be  moonlight  if  it  could  ; 
Dim,  but  not  dark  ;  you  pause  at  the  bell  handles  ; 
'Tis  scarce  worth  while  to  conquer  it  with  candles. 

Twilight  is  eve  grown  gray  before  its  time, 
Mystified  mummer,  aping  the  sublime 
Day  with  its  eye  half  closed,  and  half  a-peep; 
The  afternoon,  making  believe  to  sleep. 

'Tis  like  that  forming  frovm  yet  undefined 
That  yon  half-smiling  female  face  has  got, 
As  though  it  hadn't  quite  made  up  its  mind 
Whether  it  should  look  angrily  or  not. 

Twilight's  an  interloper  in  the  sky  ; 
The  face  of  nature  painted  with  one  eye  : 
Something  between  blank  darkness  and  broad  light,  • 
Like  dotard  day  coquetting  with  young  night. 

A  dame  passi,  who,  growing  old  and  wan, 
Affects  to  veil  the  charms  she  feels  are  gone ; 
Knowing  her  day  is  o'er,  the  wily  jade 
Inwraps  the  ruin  where  the  sunshine  play'd. 

Lovers  love  twilight,  but  I'm  not  a  lover  ; 
And  why  /7tey  love  it  I  could  ne'er  discover  ; 
For  light  is  passion's  parent :  do  ye  deem 
Beauty  no  debtor  to  the  radiant  beam 
That  lamps  its  loveliness  ;  say,  can  we  know 
That  beauty  lives,  and  one  bright  glance  forego? 
Or,  is't  a  fancy  of  love's  selfish  art. 
To  close  the  eyes,  and  see  but  with  the  heart? 

Haply  'tis  so  ;  in  love's  delirious  trance. 
The  raptured  soul,  grown  jealous  of  the  glance 
That  has  a  joy  beyond  it,  dims  the  light 
To  lend  to  young  imagination  sight. 

Fancy,  that  peoples  darkness  with  bright  rays, 
And  makes  a  darkness  that  it  thus  may  gaze : 
How  is't  that  fw^ry  feeling,  fond,  intense, 
Tempts  us  to  lose  a  while  our  visual  sense? 

Is  it  superfluous  ?    We  drink  love  through  it ; 
'Tis  then  in  us ;  we  can  no  longer  view  it 
By  gazing  outwards  ;  now,  a  glance  to  win. 
Our  eyelids  close,  and  t-iru  their  sense  within. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  269 

This  is  digressive,  but  enough  for  me ; 

Lovers,  in  fact,  are  no  authority  ; 

So,  as  I  said  at  first,  old  twaddling  twilight, 

Be  still  the  lover's  gleam,  you  shan't  be  my  light. 

Thou'rt  day  declared  a  bankrupt,  offering  round 
A  dividend  of  ten-pence  in  the  pound  : 
Plague  take  such  compositions;  I'll  for  one 
Have  twenty  shillings'  worth  of  light  or  none. 

Not  daybreak,  but  day  broken ;  light  fades  fast ; 
Do  as  thou  wilt,  thou'rt  sure  to  Jaii  at  last. 
"  Come,  sealing  night,"  before  thee  twilight  flies  ; 
Put  out  the  mocker  with  your  starry^yes. 
Dusky-hued  coward  !  hast  begun  the  race, 
Dar'st  thou  not  look  Dame  Dian  in  the  face? 

Now  flickering  fainter,  now  more  darkly  dull, 
"  I,  that  am  cruel,  am  yet  merciful  ; 
I  would  not  have  thee  linger  in  thy  pain  :  " 
Come,light  the  candles  ;  struggle  not,  —  'tis  vain. 

Is  that  thy  shadow,  lingering  on  the  moor  ? 

No  matter  ;  you  shall  never  come  in-door. 

The  stars  come  out  at  thee,  pale  day-diniinisher ; 

Now  the  moon  gleams  at  full,  —  ay,  that's  a  finisher. 

Beneath  the  hillock's  shadow,  cloaked  in  gray, 
Cautiously  creep  before  the  light  aw.iy  ; 
But  when  the  morning  moon  grows  sick  and  pale. 
Then,  stealthy  stepper,  come  across  the  vale. 

Child  of  the  mist,  isthmus  'twixt  light  and  shade  I 
Shadow  of  Chaos,  from  which  earth  was  made  I 
Day  dying  of  decline  I  doubt-dreaming  ray  I 
Thy  presence  saddens  me  —  away  —  away  ! 

W.  L.  R. 

"  Away  —  away  !  "  Our  correspondent  must  liavc 
been  in  a  {Treat  luuty,  to  .speak  thus  to  tlic  poorg^cutlc 
twilif^lit,  wliich  has  not  a  word  to  say  for  itself,  unless 
it  be  the  munin-bell,  the  next  thing  in  Iiiunhleness  of 
sound  to  the  shccp-bcll.  We  take  him  to  1)0  a  pioth- 
giously  active  and  eajjer  spirit,  ^\■ith  ;ni  ultia  llow  of 
health  and    life,  and    never  easy  but  when    occupied, 


270  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

perhaps  not  then,  unless  the  occupation  perfectly  suits 
him.  But  he  has  a  soul  withal ;  you  may  know  it 
even  by  what  is  implied  in  his  style  of  abuse  ;  and 
therefore  it  is  not  the  twilight  he  hates,  but  the  ab- 
sence of  something  which  he  wanted  instead  of  it. 
Yes;  assuredly  he  has  been  "snubbing"  the  poor 
Qiiadroon,  like  some  lordly  planter,  because  some- 
body else  has  not  brought  him  his  sangaree. 

He  lets  —  we  cannot  say  the  "  cat  out  of  the  bag  " 
—  but  the  dove  out  of  the  cage — in  what  he  says 
about  lovers.  He  tells  us  he  is  "  no  lover,"  merely  in 
order  to  avoid  what  he  knows  to  be  conclusive  against 
him  ;  and,  in  fact,  he  runs  into  a  digression  about  love, 
on  purpose  to  disprove  his  own  argument.  Besides, 
if  he  happens  to  be  so  limited  or  so  unlucky  in  his 
circle  of  acquaintances  as  to  be  in  love  with  nobody, 
he  must  love  all  sorts  of  lovable  things,  otherwise 
hovv  could  he  write  so  well  about  loving.-*  and  if  a 
man  loves  anything  at  all,  he  must  needs  love  so  mild 
and  loving  a  thing  as  the  twilight.  (Here  area  great 
many  repetitions  of  the  word  "  love  ;  "  but  it  is  a 
pleasant  note,  and  will  bear  reiteration  like  the  night- 
ingale's.) 

Furthermore,  in  this  passage  of  our  correspondent's 
about  love,  compared  with  certain  letters  which  he 
has  written  to  us  privately,  in-ging  us  to  give  an  arti- 
cle on  Coleridge,  we  have  detected  him  in  the  fact  of 
his  disingenuousness  ;  for  this  very  passage  has  mani- 
festly been  suggested  by  some  stanzas  of  that  favorite 
of  his,  in  the  poem  entitled  the  Day-Dream.  It  is  a 
lover's  picture  of  twilight  in  a  room,  and  is  so  beauti- 
ful and  true,  that  it  might  serve  alone,  as  an  answer 
to  all  the  stanzas  of  tliis  pretending  rogue  :  — 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  2'Jl 

"  My  eyes  make  pictures,  when  tliey  are  shut :  — 
I  see  a  ftluntain,  laige  and  fair, 
A  willow  and  a  ruined  hut. 

And  thee,  and  me,  and  Mary  there. 

0  Mary  !  make  thy  gentle  lap  our  pillow  ! 

Bend  o'er  us,  like  a  bower,  my  beautiful  green  willow  I 
•  ***«** 

The  shadows  dance  upon  the  wall, 
By  the  still  dancing  fire-flames  made  ; 

And  now  they  slumber,  moveless  all ! 
And  now  they  melt  to  one  deep  shade  ! 

But  not  from  me  shall  this  mild  darkness  steal  thee  ; 

1  dream  thee  with  mine  eyes,  and  at  my  heart  I  feel  thee  '.  " 

Very  beautiful  and  spiritual,  and  truly  loving.  But 
lovers,  the  most  honorable  and  delicate,  have  a  trick 
of  taking  other  advantages  of  the  good-natured  twi- 
light ;  and  the  poet  goes  on  to  let  us  know  as  nuich  :  — 

"Thine  eyelash  on  my  cheek  doth  play." 

Far  be  it  from  us  to  dcnv  the  merits  of  liirht  and  see- 
ing.  Beauty  was  surely  meant  to  be  seen  as  well  as 
loved,  or  why  is  it  so  beautiful.''  But  it  is  a  maxim 
with  us  never  to  deny  the  merits  of  one  good  thing 
because  there  is  another  ;  and  twiligiit,  where  love  is, 
has  its  loveliness  also,  as  well  as  lamp  and  daylight. 
One  of  the  greatest  tests  of  true  love  is  the  sense  of 
joy  imparted  by  the  mere  presence  of  the  beloved 
object,  apart  from  light,  speech,  or  anything  else  ;  and 
twilight,  somehow,  rewards  us  for  ilie  sincerity  and 
generosity  of  this  feeling,  by  bringing  us  nearer  to  the 
object  of  our  aflcclion,  in  its  abolition  of  interme- 
diate objects,  and  a  general  sense  of  its  mild  embrace- 
ment. 

Come  —  let  us  consider  what  our  correspondent 
would    say  further  in    behalf   of    the  twilight,  if  he 


273  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

were  in  the  humor  for  it.  We  wish  we  had  time  to 
say  it  in  verse  ;  but  here  we  heave  a  great  sigh  (one 
of  the  sighs  of  our  life)  ;  and  as  we  always  feel 
ashamed  of  sisfhins:  in  the  midst  of  this  beautiful 
creation  (of  which  to  be  able  to  discern  a  millionth 
part  of  the  beauties,  is  to  waken  up  as  many  con- 
solatory angels,  who  lie  in  wait  to  become  visible  to 
loving  eyes),  we  shall  proceed  to  express  ourselves 
in  our  accustomed  prose,  from  which,  at  all  events, 
the  love  of  what  is  poetical  cannot  be  excluded. 

Twilight  is  the  time  between  light  and  darkness, 
when  the  facility  aflbrded  for  action  by  the  daylight 
is  over,  and  the  aid  of  candle-light,  for  the  renewal 
of  action,  awaits  our  pleasure  to  renew  it  or  not. 
It  is  therefore  the  precise  time,  of  all  others,  which 
seems  designed  by  nature  for  meditation.  We  say, 
by  nature  ;  for  tiiough  we  hold  it  to  be  man's  nature 
to  be  artificial  as  well  as  natural,  yet  it  is  natural 
for  him,  being  a  thinking  being,  to  "take  pause;" 
and  nature,  in  this  gentlest  and  most  intermediate 
hour,  seems  to  offer  it  him.  The  greatest  part  of 
his  duty  is  over  (we  hold,  that  in  a  more  civilized 
state  of  society  it  will  all  be  over,  except  for  pur- 
jDoses  of  entertainment)  ;  he  cannot  see  to  work  ;  he 
cannot  see  to  travel  very  actively  ;  his  very  Ijook  be- 
gins to  fail  him,  unless  he  has  determined  to  keep  up 
the  train  of  his  reading,  and  goes  nearer  and  nearer 
to  the  window,  and  at  last  he  must  give  it  up.  He 
is  therefore  thrown  upon  his  meditations. 

Now  "  think  a  little." 

Not  of  your  cares,  dear  readei",  if  you  can  help  it ;  not 
of  your  work  ;  not  of  other  people's  faults  ;  not  of  your 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  273 

own.  There  is  time  enough  to  attend  to  those,  when 
we  have  more  light  —  unless,  indeed,  you  do  it  in  great 
charity,  first  towards  the  faults  of  others,  and  then 
towards  yourself  (having  earned  the  right),  and  al- 
ways provided  you  end,  as  indeed  you  must,  if  true 
charity  meditates  with  you,  in  resolutions  befitting 
the  mildness  and  considerateness  of  the  hour.  We 
would  not  even  have  you  think  of  the  sufferings  of 
others,  provided  you  think  of  them  at  any  other 
time,  and  do  what  you  can  to  help  them.  Twi- 
light is  a  placid  hour,  and  you  must  entertain  it 
with  placidity  or  not  at  all.  You  must  have  so 
acted,  or  so  wished  to  act,  at  other  times,  as  to  be 
able  to  give  gentle  welcome  to  gentle  guest.  You 
must  be  ivorthy  of  the  twiliglit. 

(Here  our  correspondent  gives  a  great  wince  ;  and 
begins  to  inquire  of  his  conscience,  whether  he  has 
ever  cracked  any  one's  skull,  or  written  any  im- 
piety except  the  above.) 

Now  let  us  think  of  all  mild  and  loving  things  — 
of  our  childhood,  of  the  fields,  of  our  best  friends, 
of  twilight  it.sclf  and  its  shadows,  of  the  quiet  of 
our  fireside,  and  the  fanciful  things  we  see  in  the 
glowing  coals,  of  the  poets  wiio  have  spoken  of 
evening,  of  the  beauty  of  stillness,  of  scenes  of  rural 
comfort,  of  the  travels  of  the  winds  and  clouds,  of 
stories  of  good  angels,  nay,  of  dear  friends  whom 
we  have  lost,  provided  we  have  lost  them  long 
enough  or  loved  tliem  well  enough  to  consider  tiiem 
with  reference  to  the  beauty  of  their  own  spirit 
rather  than  to  their  absence  from  ourselves.  Per- 
haps they  are  commissioned  to  be  good  angels  over 


274  THE   WISHING-CAP   PAPERS. 

US  :  —  perhaps  they  are  now  this  minute  in  the  room, 
smiling  in  the  certainty  of  their  own  lovingness,  and 
the  knowledge  of  our  future  good ;  ay,  and  (as  far  as 
their  sympathy  with  our  present  struggles  will  per- 
mit) smiling  to  tliink  even  how  startled  we  should  be 
to  sec  them,  if  it  were  within  Heaven's  knowledge  of 
what  is  best  for  us  that  we  should  do  so.  For  God  is 
the  author  of  mirth  as  well  as  seriousness,  and  consid- 
ering what  security  of  belief  in  good  there  must  be  in 
celestial  natures,  we  may  conceive  some  little  stoop- 
ing to  it  even  in  the  happiness  of  heavenly  cheeks. 

"•  Let  us  think  "  of  that,  and  of  all  other  possibilities 
beyond  the  regions  of  mere  earthly  utility,  not  except- 
ing it  nevertheless.  It  is  the  privilege  of  the  imagina- 
tive, that  they  include  everything  which  is  good,  besides 
seeing  a  germ  of  it  at  the  core  of  the  thorniest  evil. 

We  put  these  words,  "  let  us  think,"  within  marks 
of  quotation,  for  a  reason  very  proper  to  mention  in 
this  place  ;  for  we  scarcely  ever  begin  meditating  at 
twilight  without  calling  them  to  mind  as  uttered  to 
us  by  the  beloved  parent  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for 
most  of  our  aspirations  after  anything  useful  or  beau- 
tiful. She  would  say  to  us  sometimes  at  this  hour, 
when  our  spirits  appeared  to  her  to  be  a  little  too  in- 
cessant, "  Come  —  let  us  think  a  little."  And  then 
we  used  to  sit  down  on  a  stool  at  her  side,  and  look 
at  the  fire,  and  be  led  into  a  sedate  mood  by  some 
story  she  would  tell  us  of  her  own  mother,  or  of  the 
sea,  or  of  some  great  and  good  people  of  old. 

So  now  this  is  good  hushing  time,  is  it  not,  reader.'' 
and  fit  for  keeping  a  little  from  the  candles ;  and  not 
what  our  ultra  lively  friend  (now  growing  remorseful) 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  375 

would  make  of  it.  You  and  we  are  sitting  on  each 
side  of  the  fireplace,  one  of  us  with  a  knee  between 
his  hands,  the  other  with  a  cliild  between  his  knees, 
and  there  is  a  fair  friend  with  us,  and  we  are  all  as 
quiet  as  mice,  our  faces  lit  up  by  the  fire,  and  our 
shadows  shifting  on  the  wall.  When  we  speak,  it  is  in 
a  low  voice  ;  for  twilight  has  this  also  in  common  with 
the  sweetest  of  its  friends  :  — 

"  Its  voice  is  ever  soft,  gentle  and  low  — 
An  excellent  thing  in  Twilight." 

IV.  L.  R.  shall  come  in  among  us,  if  he  is  "  very 
good." 

\V.  L.  R.     You  see  before  you,  sir,  a  penitent. 

Writer.  I  see  before  me  a  suspicious  quoter  of 
impudent  plays. 

W.  L.  R.     I  appeal  to  the  lady's  face,  sir. 

Writer.  O,  you're  a  very  cunning  appellant,  sir, 
and  the  lady's  face  will  get  you  a  pardon  for  anything. 
—  Tlicre  —  don't  tumble  over  the  little  boy.  But 
with  what  face  you  can  come  in,  after  saying  you  are 
"  no  lover  "  — 

W.  L.  R.  E.xcuse  me.  Whatever  I  might  have 
said  before,  real  or  pretended,  and  whatever  new  pic- 
sumption  I  may  be  guilty  of  now,  nobody  can  look 
on  tiiis  lady's  face  witiiout  — 

Wrjtcr.  IIusli,  hush  ;  not  so  very  loud  and  entiui- 
siastic.  {All  iauj^/t.)  You  see  how  little  he  was  in 
earnest.  The  moment  he  hears  of  a  comfortablr  ])arty 
and  a  charming  woman,  he  is  for  being  in  the  midst 
of  it,  twilight  and  all.  —  Come,  as  we  arc  Christian 
people,  we  will  give  him,  by  way  of  penance,  what 
shall  be  no  penance  at  all.     He  shall  recite  to  us  Cole- 


276 


THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


ridge's  poem,  entitled  Frost  at  Midnight.  There 
is  mention  in  it  of  a  fireside  and  of  the  little  fluttering 
film  on  the  bars  before  us  ;  and  the  spirit  of  the  whole 
piece  is  suited  to  the  occasion,  quiet,  reflective,  and 
univcisal.  The  last  line  is  tlie  perfection  of  ideal 
sympathy. 

IV.  L.  R.  (Suppressing  the  vehemence  of  his  en- 
thusiasm, in  order  to  recite  with  a  gentleness  fitted  to 
the  lines,  and  gradually  growing  softer  and  more  sea- 
sonable, till  nothing  can  be  better  given.) 

FROST   AT  MIDNIGHT. 

The  frost  performs  its  secret  ministry, 
Unhelped  by  any  wind.     The  owlet's  cry 
Came  loud  —  and  liark,  again  !  loud  as  before. 
The  inmates  of  my  cottage,  all  at  rest, 
Have  left  me  to  that  solitude,  which  suits 
Abstruser  musings  :  save  that  at  my  side 
My  cradled  infant  slumbers  peacefully. 
'Tis  calm  indeed  !  so  calm,  that  it  disturbs 
And  vexes  meditation  with  its  strange 
And  extreme  silentness.     Sea,  hill,  and  wood. 
This  populous  vill.ige  !     Sea,  and  hill,  and  wood. 
With  all  the  numberless  goings  on  of  life,  • 
Inaudible  as  dreams  !  the  thin  blue  flame 
Lies  on  my  low-burnt  fire,  and  quivers  not ; 
Only  that  film,  which  fluttered  on  the  grate, 
Still  flutters  there,  the  sole  unquiet  thing. 
Methinks,  its  motion  in  this  hush  of  nature 
Gives  it  dim  sympathies  with  me  who  live. 
Making  it  a  companionable  form, 
Whose  puny  flaps  and  freaks  the  idling  spirit 
By  its  own  moods  interprets,  everywhere 
Echo  or  mirror  seeking  of  itself, 
And  makes  a  toy  of  thought. 

But  O  !  how  oft. 

How  oft,  at  school,  with  most  believing  mind, 

Presagcful,  have  I  gazed  upon  the  bars. 

To  watch  that  fluttering  stranger  I  and  as  oft 

With  unclosed  lids,  already  had  I  dreamt 

Of  my  sweet  birth-place,  and  the  old  church-tower, 


»834- 


ESSAYS    AN'D    SKETCUES.  377 

Whose  bells,  the  roo""  man's  only  music,  rang 

From  mom  to  evening,  all  the  hot  Fair-day, 

So  sweetly,  that  they  stiired  and  haunted  me  « 

With  a  wild  pleasure,  falling  on  mine  ear 

Most  like  articulate  sounds  of  things  to  come  1 

So  gazed  I,  till  the  soothing  things  I  dreamt 

Lulled  me  to  sleep,  and  sleep  prolonged  my  dreams  ! 

And  so  I  brooded  all  the  following  morn, 

Awed  by  the  stern  preceptor's  lace,  mine  eye 

Fixed  with  mock  study  on  my  swimming  book: 

Save  if  the  door  half  opened,  and  I  snatched 

A  hasty  glance,  and  still  my  heart  leaped  up, 

For  still  I  hoped  to  see  the  stranger's  face, 

Townsman,  or  aunt,  or  sister  more  beloved, 

My  playmate  when  we  both  were  clothed  alike  I 

Dear  babe,  that  slecpcst  cradled  by  my  side, 

Whose  gentle  breathings,  heard  in  this  deep  calm, 

Fill  up  the  interspersed  vacancies 

And  momentary  pauses  of  the  thought : 

My  babe  so  beautiful !  it  tlfrills  my  heart 

With  tender  gladness,  thus  to  look  at  thee. 

And  think  that  thou  shalt  learn  far  other  lore 

And  in  far  other  scenes  !     For  I  was  reared 

In  the  great  city,  pent  'mid  cloisters  dim. 

And  saw  nought  lovely  but  the  sky  and  stars. 

But  thou,  my  babe  '.  shalt  wander  like  a  breeze 

By  lakes  and  sandy  shores,  beneath  the  crags 

Of  ancient  mountain,  and  beneath  the  clouds. 

Which  imige  in  (heir  bulk  both  lakes  and  shores 

And  mountain  crags:  so  shalt  thou  see  and  hear 

The  lovely  shapes  and  snuntls  intelligible 

Of  th It  eternal  languT^e,  which  tliy  God 

Utters,  who  from  eternity  doth  teach 

Himself  in  all,  and  all  things  in  himself. 

Great  universal  Teacher  !  he  shall  mould 

Thy  spirit,  and  by  giving  mike  it  ask. 

Therefore  all  seasons  shall  be  sweet  to  thee, 

Whether  the  summer  clothe  the  general  earth 

With  grecnne'is,  or  the  redbreast  sit  and  sing 

Betwixt  the  tufts  of  snow  on  the  bare  branch 

Of  mossy  applelrec,  while  the  nigh  thatch 

Smokes  in  the  sun-lh  iw  :  whether  the  cavcdrops  fall. 

Heard  only  in  the  trances  of  the  blast, 

Or  if  the  secret  ministry  of  frost  «• 

Shall  hang  them  up  in  silent  icicles, 

Quietly  shining  to  the  quiet  moon. 


378  THE   WISHING-CAP   PAPERS. 


TABLE   WITS.— A   BREAKFAST. 

IT  is  expected,  we  understand,  that  we  shall  begin 
our  second  volume  *  with  something  very  pi- 
quant. This  is  an  awful  announcement.  To  be 
called  upon  for  a  bon-mot  is  embarrassing.  To  be  ex- 
pected to  be  amusing  for  eight  good  octavo  pages,  is 
at  least  equal  to  calling  upon  a  man  for  half  an  hour's 
much  interesting  chat,  all  on  his  own  side.  Then 
there  is  the  sensation  which  singers  have,  when  they 
are  told  that  the  company  are  "  all  attention." 

Some  pei-sons,  when  they  expect  you  to  be  witty, 
do  not  even  reconcile  the  announcement  by  an  implied 
compliment.  They  look  upon  it  as  all  in  the  way  of 
business.  As  a  baker  has  his  hot  rolls  by  eight 
o'clock,  so  an  author,  they  think,  is  to  have  his  essays. 
Twopenny  loaves  are  the  trade  of  one ;  twopenny  In- 
dicators of  the  other.  The  same  expense  of  the  facul- 
ties is  supposed  to  go  to  the  making  of  either.  The 
printer  composes  for  his  bread  ;  so  does  the  author. 
The  cook  melts  down  another  animal's  brains  with 
great  equanimity  ;  the  author,  of  course,  likewise. 

As  we  are  to  be  full  of  good  things  in  our  present 
number,  wc  take  a  refuge  very  common  to  those  who 
have  no  better,  and  invite  the  reader  to  discuss  (a 
word,  by  the  by,  of  much  injured  metaphorical  com- 
monplace, which  we  hereby  restore  to  its  ingenuity)  f 

*  Of  that  pleasant  little  periodical,  The  Indicator.  —  Ed. 

t  "Tabic-  and  conversation  interchange  their  metaphors,"  says  Hunt,  in  his 
Table-Talk.  "  We  devour  wit  and  argument,  and  discuss  a  turkey  and  chine." 
—  Ed. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  279 

some  rolls  and  ham  with  us.  It  is  astonishing  what 
good  company  a  gentleman  can  make  himself  by 
means  of  this  kind.  A  breakfast  may  be  eloquent ; 
a  dinner  is  sure  to  be  so.  The  very  decanting  of  his 
wine  shall  "  discourse  excellent  music  "  for  him.  His 
good  things  are  all  of  the  best,  substantial,  and  intel- 
ligible. He  is  solid  over  his  beef.  His  jeu  d'esprlt 
is  a  bottle  of  soda.  "  A  leetle  more  of  the  sounds.''  " 
—  '"a  leetle  stewed  lobster?"  —  "  a  Icctle  more  lemon 
to  the  currie  ? "  —  "  some  stuffing  }"  — ''  more  grouse  ?  " 
"let  me  recommend  this  blanc-mange  —  this  cream 
pancake  —  this  custard  with  your  tart  —  these  brandy 
apricots  —  these  olives  —  a  devil  —  hah!  (smacking 
his  lips)  this  is  the  old  wine  I  told  you  of,  sure 
enough  :  "  —  phrases  of  this  kind,  judiciousl}'  admin- 
istered, shall  outrival  twice  as  many  bon-mots.  They 
shall  produce  a  profound  sensation,  —  an  al)solute 
severity  of  satisfaction.  We  have  known  a  gentle- 
man, remarkable  for  a  certain  festive  taciturnity,  sit 
at  the  head  of  his  table;  and,  by  dint  of  these  com- 
mendatory svUables,  united  to  the  reputation  of  know- 
insr  more  than  lie  said,  make  a  wit  feel  doubtful  of 
the  merit  f)f  being  facetious,  and  fearful  how  he  in- 
terrupted so  intense  a  conviviality. 

And  licrc  (before  the  rolls  come  up)  we  may  notice 
a  compromising  kind  of  it,  which  would  see  fair  play 
between  ideas  and  no  ideas,  and  might  be  imitated  to 
advantage  by  those  who  would  willingly  say  some- 
thing and  yet  nothing.  Polite  conversation,  as  de- 
tailed by  Swift,  has  iiad  its  day  ;  so  that  if  tiie  genteel 
have  no  new  novel  or  scandal  to  discourse  of,  they  will 
rather  say  nothing  than  not  appear  knowing  or  liter- 


^8o  THE    WISMING-CAP    PAPERS. 

aiy.  The  jokes  iibout  "  my  Lord  Mayor's  fool,"  and 
•'  none  the  better  for  seeing  you,"  and  "  Tom,  how  is 
it  you  can't  see  the  wood  for  trees,"  have  been  super- 
seded by  the  periodical  publications.  Now  the  wit- 
tockwe  speak  of  (to  use  a  Scotch  diminutive)  is  akin 
to  punning,  inasmuch  as  it  plays  upon  words ;  so  that 
at  any  rate,  some  verbal  knowledge  is  requisite  for 
those  who  handle  it ;  and  herein  the  advantage  pro- 
posed to  the  dining  circles  is  evident.  It  is  practised 
with  great  applause  by  a  friend  of  ours,  and  may  be 
called  the  Art  of  Translating  a  Language  into  itself. 
Thus,  to  break,  signifying  also  to  fracture,  and  fast, 
being,  in  one  sense,  the  same  as  rapid,  the  wag  in 
question  calls  breakfasting,  Fracturing  one's  Raj^id. 
Cold  mutton  he  translates  into  Frigid  vSheep.  Foreign 
pickle  is  Peregrine  Pickle.  Some  bacon  is  a  Piece 
of  the  Viscount  St.  Albans  ;  — or  in  removing  bacon 
for  some  other  dish,  he  recommends  you  to  put  it 

"Nigh  where  the  goodly  Verulam  stood  of  yore." 

Greens  are  Verdants,  and  as  verd  means  green,  and 
green  means  inexperienced,  and  ants  has  a  sound  like 
aunts,  he  calls  them,  by  a  diftuser  version.  Inexperi- 
enced Sisters  of  one's  Father.  Pulling  the  bell,  is 
Romping  with  the  Beauty  ;  and  bringing  up  the  urn, 
Educating  the  Sarcophagus.  There  is  eminent  au- 
thority for  this  kind  of  translation  into  other  lan- 
guages,—  as  the  Latin  conversion,  attributed  to  Dr. 
Johnson,  of  a  tea  chest  into  the  second  person  singu- 
lar of  the  verb  doceo,  to  teach  ;  and  Hogarth's  epis- 
tolary drawing,  inviting  a  friend,  in  three  Greek 
letters,  to  Eta  Beta  Pi.     But  our  friend  contrives  to 


ESSAYS    AND   SKETCHES.  38 1 

be  learned,  while  adhering  to  his  own  language,  and 
pours  forth  a  profusion  of  synonymous  trifling,  which 
we,  of  all  persons,  shall  certainly  not  quarrel  with, 
seeing  that  he  does  it  out  of  the  delight  of  escaping 
from  his  studies,  and  feeling  his  kindred  or  his  friends 
about  him.  We  were  much  pleased  the  other  day, 
for  his  sake,  in  hearing  of  an  eminent  living  philoso- 
pher of  our  acquaintance  who,  in  the  midst  of  his 
white  locks,  still  retains  his  love  of  verbal  joking,  and 
delights  to  help  his  young  companions  to  a  jest  as 
well  as  some  soup.  He  lets,  in  particular,  his  politi- 
cal spleen  take  breath  by  it.  One  dish,  which  he  is 
fondest  of  cutting  up,  he  calls  after  such  and  such  a 
statesman.  He  shakes  his  head  at  another,  and  says 
there  is  too  much  High  Church  in  it.  To  your  veal 
he  recommends  a  squeeze  of  the  judge. 

An  old  sclioolfcllow  of  ours,  with  whom  we  used  to 
breakfast,  in  high,  j^lee,  in  a  study  four  feet  square, 
possesses,  almost  beyond  any  man  we  ever  met  witli, 
this  talent  of  converting  one  idea  into  another,  and 
being  equally  merry  in  his  mirth  and  his  gravity.  We 
remember  the  irresistible  ellect  which  his  reception 
of  a  beating  from  the  master  used  to  have  upon  us 
all.  His  gesticulations  of  agony  were  so  al^rupt, 
varied,  and  extravagant,  that  the  master  and  the  boys 
used  to  be  equally  perplexed,  —  the  latter  how  to 
keep  themselves  from  laughing  out  loud,  and  the 
former  wiicthcr  to  take  it  as  something  extremely 
wretched  or  contemptuous.  Either  expression  was 
eciually  imusual  in  a  school  so  well  attempered  as  ours. 
He  was  found  out  at  last,  and  compelled  to  take 
care  of  his  Jokes.       His  gravity,  however,  was  under 


282  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

suspicion  to  the  last.  When  the  master  was  about 
to  retire  from  his  office,  he  received,  for  an  exercise, 
a  set  of  Latin  verses  from  him,  in  which  there  was  a 
pathetic  adieu,  apostrophizing  him  under  the  title  of 
"  Reverende  Magister."  The  old  gentleman,  not 
much  accustomed  to  the  melting  mood  at  any  time,  or 
to  the  dry  one  often,  turned  round  to  him  with  a  face 
of  ludicrous  gratitude,  and  said,  "  Thank  ye,  F."  He 
used  to  perplex  him  also,  as  well  as  us  all,  by  taking 
advantage  of  a  permission  we  had  of  being  facetious 
in  verse-making,  and  giving  up  the  most  extravagant 
versions  of  English  nursery  songs,  such  as  Jack  and 
Gill,  and  When  I  was  a  Bachelor.  Like  all  young 
wits  who  are  scholars,  he  liked  to  give  ludicrous  dig- 
nity to  commonplaces  by  the  gravity  of  a  learned 
language.  He  kept  his  tea  and  sugar  memorandums 
in  Latin  ;  used  to  call  out  for  the  boy  who  kept  a 
door,  under  the  title  of  Janitor  Aula; ;  and  gave  us  a 
little  pocket  edition  of  Buchanan,  which  we  have  now 
by  us,  as  a  pledge  and  MONUMENT  of  his  friend- 
ship, —  "  Pignus  et  monumentum."  He  said  of  a 
fellow-wag,  who  was  accustomed  to  exaggerate, 
"  When  so  and  so  relates  a  stor\',  you  must  multiply 
by  hundreds,  divide  by  thousands,  and  make  allow- 
ance in  the  quotient  for  Oriental  grandeur."  The 
same  spirit  accompanied  him  to  college,  where,  it  is 
understood,  he  might  have  got  what  classical  honors 
he  pleased,  had  not  the  gravity  of  his  answers  at  exam- 
ination been  questionable.  He  then  went  into  orders, 
and  became  remarkable  for  the  dignity  of  his  voice  and 
manner  in  the  pulpit,  while  he  retained  all  the  jocose 
part  of  his  character  among  his  friends.  "  What  words" 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  283 

(literally)  "  have  we  not  heard  at  the  Mermaid?" — ■ 
No  man  ever  got  up  a  little  festive  meeting  with  a  more 
orthodox  grace.  If  port  was  not  liked  by  any  one,  he 
found  a  bottle  of  claret  by  his  plate;  and  we  shall 
always  "retain  a  grateful  recollection  of  his  olives.  It 
is  a  fault  sometimes  found  with  wits,  and  justly,  that 
their  animal  spirits  carry  them  away  from  a  j^i'optii' 
attentiveness  to  others.  This  never  was  his  case.  He 
had  a  handsome  faculty,  not  only  of  being  pleasant 
himself,  but  of  extracting  all  that  could  be  got  out  of 
others.  To  strangers  he  would  sometimes  be  more  dis- 
concerting, like  Swift ;  to  whom,  bv  the  way,  he  bore 
some  resemblance,  if  the  Dean's  picture  in  Sharpe's 
edition  of  the  Spectator  is  a  good  likeness.  He  turned 
round  once  upon  a  man  in  Ilolborn,  and  asked  him, 
with  an  air  of  zealous  appeal,  whether  he  had  ever 
injured  his  wife  and  family  ;  upon  which  the  aston- 
ished passenger  declaring  he  had  not,  '•  Then,  sir," 
said  he,  '•  I  will  thank  you,  another  time,  not  to  tread 
my  shoe  down  at  heel."  There  was  a  huge  fellow 
one  evening  making  a  great  noise  in  a  conbc-housc, 
about  a  prize  ox  he  had  seen.  "  I  have  heard  of  the 
carcass,"  says  P.  "  The  carcass  !  "  cries  the  other,  with 
a  sort  of  triumph  of  knowledge: — ''it's  alive,  sir; 
it's  alive  ;  and  live  bodies  arc  not  called  carcasses." 
"  Good,"  says  the  otiier,  looking  at  him,  "■but  I  presume 
they  may  deserve  the  name."  lie  said  this  with  so  indil- 
ferentand  yet  so  particular  an  air,  that  neither  tlie  man 
could  be  olVcnded  nor  the  company  refrain  liom  ];uiL;h- 
ing.  At  another  time,  being  in  the  cider  cellar  in 
Maiden  Lane,  and  one  of  our  party  having  said  some- 
thing in   Latin,  without  the  least    iiUenfion  of  being 


284  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

overheard,  a  military  gentleman,  somewhat  irritable 
with  having  more  wine  than  wit,  said  out  loud,  that 
he  did  not  conceive  a  public  room  a  fit  place  to  talk 
Latin  in.  Wc  forget  what  our  schoolfellow  said  to 
this :  but  in  consequence  of  his  enlisting  the  com- 
pany on  our  side  with  his  jokes,  the  captain  pro- 
posed to  give  him  his  address.  "  Sir,"  says  P.,  with 
great  gravity,  "  you  need  not  trouble  yourself  with  a 
specimen :  I  never  had  any  doubt  of  your  being  a 
man  of  address."  "  Sir,"  returned  the  captain  more 
vehemently,  his  voice  a  little  titubating  with  wine  — 
"You  will  not  —  then  —  take  my  address?"  "  O, 
excuse  me,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  do  take  it  in- 
finitely ;  and  all  the  rest  of  us  take  it."  By  this  time 
the  amusement  of  the  audience  had  much  increased. 
"  Sir  !  "  repeated  the  officer,  half  rising  from  his  seat, 
and  tumbling  a  little  towards  him,  with  pipe  in  hand, 
and  angry  w^onder  in  his  eye, —  "  I  say,  sir,  —  do  you 
mean  to  say,  sir,  —  you  know  what  I  mean  —  I  mean  to 
say,  sir,  I'll  give  you  my  address  ;  that's  what  I  mean." 
"  But,  sir,"  retorted  our  inflexible  companion,  "  you 
must  allow  me  to  say  that  your  liberality  is  really 
superfluous  ;  since,  to  confess  the  truth,  I  really  don't 
at  all  approve  of  your  address."  At  this  the  tottering 
man  (who,  you  might  see  by  his  face  was  good-hu- 
mored enough,  and  worth  being  parried  in  this  way 
by  a  gentleman)  staggered  up  to  his  antagonist,  and 
held  out  his  hand  to  him,  declaring  he  was  one  of  the 
pleasantest  fellows  he  ever  met  with  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  life,  and  nothing  should  induce  him  to 
quarrel  with  him. 

Wc  do  not  profess  any  practical  science  in  meals. 


ESSAYS   AND   SKETCHES.  285 

Those  who  do  will  despise  us  at  once,  when  they  hear 
that  we  prefer  breakfast  and  tea  to  dinner,  and  that 
by  breakfast,  we  mean  a  very  common  one."  *  But  we 
know  what  belongs  to  a  meal.  There  was  a  lay- 
schoolfellow  of  ours,  who  was  always  proposing  to 
treat -some  of  us  at  a  tavern;  though  he  never  did. 
He  contented  himself  with  casting  up  what  he  called 
"  the  damages."  He  used  to  cry  out  on  a  sudden, 
"  It  doesn't  signify  talking,  but  we  will  have  that  din- 
ner I  spoke  of  this  afternoon.  Come,  now  ;  I'm  seri- 
ous. Let  us  see  what  will  be  the  damages?"  He 
would  then  take  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  fall  to  mak- 
ing out  a  grave  list  of  hsh,  flesh,  and  tart ;  till  the 
exceeding  wish  to  realize  it,  almost  made  dupes  of 
our  cloistered  imaginations  for  the  seventh  time.  The 
worst  of  it  was,  that  he  himself  used  to  go  home  and 
feast  on  what  he  had  been  speaking  of;  while  we 
were  rung  up  in  the  hall,  and  dined  like  the  monks  of 
La  Trappe.  We  shall  reverse  the  spirit  of  this  va- 
gary. Our  l)rcakfast  will  be  upon  paper,  but  our 
readers  shall  have  more  than  we  are  in  the  habit  of 
seeing  on  our  table.  Students  are  at  once  tempted  to 
exceed,  and  obliged  to  be  temperate.  The  exhaustion 
of  their  faculties  excites  them  to  indulge  a  morbid  ap- 
petite; while  the  delicacy  of  stomach  produced  by 
that  exhaustion,  makes  them  cautious  how  they  ren- 
der it  greater  next  time. 

What  sliall  we  say  thcn.^     F(;r  "  it  does  not  signify 


•  "It  seems,"  »ay»  Fuller,  in  speaking  of  the  ravens  tlint  brouRht  Klijnh 
bread  and  flcsli  in  the  nioriiin^;  and  evening,  "  it  seems  dinners  are  but  innuva* 
tions,  whilst  breakfa'>t5and  suppers  arc  men's  most  ancient  and  natural  meals." 
—  A  P'nriU  r^jfhi  nf  PaUilint,  cha;Mcr  ■?,  pirapraph  17  —  F,d 


286  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

talking."  We  will  have  the  breakfast  he  spoke  of. 
And  licre  it  is,  ready  laid.  Imprimis,  tea  and  cotTee  ; 
secondly,  dry  toast ;  thirdly,  butter ;  fourthly,  eggs  ; 
fifthly,  ham;  sixthly,  something  potted;  seventhly, 
bread,  salt,  mustard,  knives  and  forks,  &c.  One  of  the 
first  things  that  belong  to  a  breakfast  is  a  good  fire. 
There  is  a  delightful  mixture  of  the  lively  and  the 
snug  in  comingf  down  into  one's  breakfast-room  of  a 
cold  morning,  and  seeing  everything  prepared  for  us  ; 
a  blazing  grate,  a  clean  table-cloth  and  tea  things,  the 
newly-washed  faces  and  combed  heads  of  a  set  of 
good-humored  urchins,  and  the  sole  empty  chair  at 
its  accustomed  corner,  ready  for  occupation.  When 
we  lived  alone,  we  could  not  help  reading  at  meals : 
and  it  is  certainly  a  delicious  thing  to  resume  an  enter- 
taining book  at  a  particularly  interesting  passage, 
with  a  hot  cup  of  tea  at  one's  elbow,  and  a  piece  of 
buttered  toast  in  one's  hand.  The  first  look  at  the 
page,  accoinpanied  by  a  coexistent  bite  of  the  toast, 
comes  tmder  the  head  of  intensities.  But  when  in 
company,  unless  it  is  of  a  very  private  and  pardoning 
description,  it  is,  of  course,  not  to  be  done,  unless  all 
read  ;  and  a  general  reading  in  company  is  a  sort  of 
understood  talking.  The  most  allowable  perusal  is 
that  of  a  newspaper.  It  involves  a  common  interest, 
and  is  in  itself  a  very  sufficing  and  matutine  thing.  But 
we  have  enlarged  on  the  pleasure  of  a  breakfast  pa- 
per elsewhere,  in  an  article  entitled  A  Day  by  the 
Fire  ;  which,  by  the  way,  will  prevent  us  from  in- 
dulging ourselves  in  other  particulars  appertaining  to 
the  present  subject.  We  have  it  not  by  us,  nor  are 
we  aware  that  we  have  before  mentioned  what  we  are 


ESSAYS    AND   SKETCHES.  287 

going  to  notice :  but  we  wish  to  observe,  that  ladies, 
always  delightful,  and  not  the  least  so  in  their  un- 
dress, are  apt  to  deprive  thelnselves  of  some  of  their 
best  morning  beams  by  appearing  with  their  hair  in 
papers.  We  give  notice  that  essayists,  and  of  course 
all  people  of  taste,  prefer  a  cap,  if  there  must  be  any- 
thing:  but  hair,  a  million  times  over.  To  see  grapes 
in  paper  bags  is  bad  enough,  but  the  rich  locks  of  a 
lady  in  papers,  the  roots  of  the  hair  twisted  up  like  a 
drummer's,  and  the  forehead  staring  bald  instead  of 
being  gracefully  tendrilled  and  shadowed!  —  it  is  a 
capital  offence,  —  a  defiance  to  the.  love  and  admira- 
tion of  the  other  sex,  —  a  provocative  to  a  paper  war  : 
and  we  here  accordingly  declare  the  said  war  on 
paper,  not  having  any  ladies  at  hand  to  carry  it  at 
once  into  their  headquarters.  We  must  allow,  at  the 
same  time,  that  they  are  very  shy  of  being  seen  in 
this  condition,  knowing  well  enough  how  much  of 
their  strength,  like  Samson's,  lies  in  that  gifted  orna- 
ment. Wc  have  known  a  whole  parlor  of  them  flut- 
ter off,  like  a  dovecot,  at  the  sight  of  a  friend  coming 
up  the  garden. 

But  to  return  to  our  table.  Ham  is  a  good  thing, 
but  it  is  apt  to  fever  our  sedentary  notions.  Wc 
prefer  cracking  the  roimd  end  of  an  egg  with  the 
back  of  a  silver  spoon,  —  not  a  horn  spoon,  which 
is  flimsy  and  inefficient.  A  judicious  jerk  of  the 
former  upon  a  good,  fair,  dome-like  shell  issuing 
out  of  the  egg  cup,  makclh  a  pretty  result  to  tlic 
sensations.  We  caiuiot,  in  conscience,  recomnK;iul 
hot  Inittered  toast;  but  it  is  a  pleasing  guilt.  The 
best  adventure  to  which  it  can  give  rise,  is  when  you 


288  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

have  modestly  taken  one  of  the  outside  pieces,  and 
find  your  gentility  rewarded  by  carrying  off  the  whole 
of  the  crumb  part  of  the  inner  one,  the  crust  of  which 
has  been  detached.  Chocolate  has  a  nutty  taste,  but 
is  heavy.  Coffee  is  heating,  but  has  a  fine,  serious 
flavor  in  it,  if  well  done.  You  seem  to  taste  the  color 
of  it.  We  used  to  prefer  it  at  all  times,  but  tea  has 
become  preferable  to  the  meditative  state  of  our  di- 
gestion. How  the  Chinese  came  to  invent  it,  as  San- 
cho  would  say,  we  do  not  know :  but  it  is  the  most 
ingenious,  humane,  and  poetical  of  their  discoveries. 
It  is  their  epic  poem  1820. 


GOING   TO   THE   PLAY  AGAIN. 

WITH  the  exception  of  Oberon,  we  have  not 
witnessed  a  theatrical  performance  till  the 
other  night  for  these  six  or  seven  years.  Fortune 
took  us  another  way  ;  and  when  we  had  the  opportu- 
nity we  did  not  dare  to  begin  again,  lest  our  old 
friends  should  beguile  us.  We  mention  the  circum- 
stance, partly  to  account  for  the  notice  we  shall  take 
of  many  things  which  appear  to  have  gone  by  ;  and 
partly  out  of  a  communicativeness  of  temper,  suitable 
to  a  Companion.  For  the  reader  must  never  lose 
sight  of  our  claims  to  that  title.  On  ordinary  occa- 
sions, he  must  remember  that  we  are  discussing  mor- 
als or  mince-pie  with  him  ;  on  political  ones,  reading 
the  newspaper  with  him  ;  and  in  the  present  instance, 
we  are  sitting  together  in  the  pit  (the  ancient  seat  of 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  289 

criticism),  seeing  ivho  is  who  in  the  play-liill,  and 
hearinc:  the  dehcioLis  discord  of  the  tuiiinor  of  instru- 
ments,  — the  precursor  of  harmony.  If  our  compan- 
ion is  an  old  gentleman,  we  take  a  pincli  of  his  snufl', 
and  lament  the  loss  of  Bannister  and  Mrs.  Jordan. 
Toothache  and  his  nephew  occupy  also  a  portion  of 
our  remark  ;  and  we  cough  with  an  air  of  authority. 
If  he  is  a  young  gentleman,  we  speak  of  Vcstris  and 
Miss  Foote  ;  wonder  whether  little  Goward  will  show 
herself  improving  to-night ;  denounce  the  absurdity 
of  somebody's  boots,  or  his  bad  taste  in  beauty  ;  and 
are  loud  in  deprecating  the  fellows  who  talk  loudly 
behind  us.  Finally,  if  a  lady,  we  bend  with  delight 
to  hear  the  remarks  she  is  making,  "  far  above"  criti- 
cism ;  and  to  see  the  finer  ones  in  her  eyes.  We 
criticise  the  ladies  in  the  boxes ;  and  the  more  she 
admires  them,  the  more  we  find  herself  the  lovelier. 
May  we  add,  that  ladies  in  the  pit,  this  cold  weather, 
have  still  more  attractions  than  usual ;  and  that  it  is 
cruel  to  find  ourselves  sitting,  as  we  did  tlic  other 
night,  behind  two  of  them,  when  we  ought  to  have 
been  in  the  middle,  partaking  of  the  genial  influence 
of  their  cloaks,  their  comfortable  sides,  and  their  con- 
versation? We  were  going  to  say,  tiiat  we  hope  this 
is  not  too  daring  a  remark  for  a  Companion: — but 
far  be  it  from  us  to  apologize  for  anything  so  proper. 
Don't  we  all  go  to  the  theatre  to  keep  up  our  lo\  e  of 
nature  and  sociality? 

It  was  dclightfiil  to  sec  "the  house"  again,  and 
to  feel  ourselves  recommencing  our  old  task.  How 
pleasant  looked  the  ceiling,  the  boxes,  the  pit,  every- 
thing!    Our  friends  in  the  gallery  were  hardly  noisy 

19 


290  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

enough  for  a  beginning  ;  nor.  on  the  other  hand,  could 
we  find  it  in  our  hearts  to  be  angry  with  two  com- 
panions behind  us,  who  were  a  Httle  noisier  than  they 
ought  to  have  been,  and  who  entertained  one  another 
with  alternate  observations  on  the  beauty  of  the  songs 
and  the  loss  of  a  pair  of  gloves.     All   is  pleasant  in 
these  recommencements  of  a  former  part  of  one's  life  ; 
this  new  morning,  as  it  were,  re-begun  with  the  lustre 
of  chandeliers  and  a  thousand  youthful  remembran- 
ces.    Anon  the  curtain   rises,  and  we   are   presented 
with  a  view   of  the  lighthouse  of  Genoa,  equally  de- 
licious and  unlike,  —  some  gunboats  returning  from 
slavery,   salute   us   with   meek  pufis    of   gunpowder, 
about  as  audible  as  pats  on  the  cheek,  —  the  most  con- 
siderate cannon  we  ever  met  with  :  —  then   follow    a 
crowd  and  a  chorus,  with  embraces  of  redeemed  cap- 
tives, meeting  their  wives  and  children,  at  which  we 
are  new  and  uncritical  enough   to  feel  the  tears  come 
into  our  eyes ;  and,  finally,  in  comes  Mr.   "  Atkins," 
with   a  thousand  memories   on  his  head,  —  husband 
that  was  of  a   pretty  little  singer  some   twenty  years 
back,  now  gone.  Heaven  knows  where,  like  a  black- 
bJivd.     It  seemed  wrong  in  Atkins  to  be  there,  and 
his  wife  not  with  him.     Yet  we  were  glad  to  see  him 
notwithstanding.     We  knew  him  the  instant  we  heard 
him  speak. 

Native  Land  (a  title,  by  the  by,  which  looks  like 
one  of  the  captives,  with  an  arm  oft')  is  worth  going 
to  see,  for  those  who  care  little  about  plot  or  dialogue, 
provided  there  be  good  music.  Part  of  the  music  is 
by  Mr.  Bishop,  the  rest  from  Rossini.  It  is  seldom 
that  any  of  Mr.  Bishop's  music  is  not  worth  hearing, 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  29 1 

and  one  or  two  of  the  airs  are  amoncr  Rossini's  finest. 
There  is  Di  piaccr,  for  instance  ;  and  we  believe  an- 
other, which  we  did  not  stay  to  hear.  We  fear  it  is  a 
Httle  out  of  the  scientific  pale  to  think  Rossini  a  man  of 
genius  ;  but  we  confess,  with  all  our  preference  for  such 
writers  as  Mozart,  with  whom,  indeed,  he  is  not  to  be 
compared,  we  do  hold  that  opinion  of  the  lively  Ital- 
ian. There  is  genius  of  many  kinds,  and  of  kinds 
very  remote  from  one  another,  even  in  rank.  The 
greatest  genius  is  so  great  a  thing  that  another  may 
be  infinitely  less,  and  yet  of  the  stock.  Now  Rossini, 
in  music,  is  the  genius  of  sheer  animal  spirits.  It  is 
a  species  as  inferior  to  that  of  Mozart,  as  the  clever- 
ness of  a  smart  boy  is  to  that  of  a  man  of  sentiment ; 
but  it  is  genius  nevertheless.  It  is  rare,  efiective,  and 
a  part  of  the  possessor's  character:  —  we  mean,  that 
like  all  persons  who  really  aflcct  anything  beyond  the 
common,  it  belongs  and  is  peculiar  to  him,  like  the 
invisible  genius  that  was  supposed  of  old  to  wait 
upon  individuals.  This  is  what  genius  means;  and 
Rossini  undoubtedly  has  one.  "  He  hath  a  devil," 
as  Cowley's  friend  used  to  cry  out  when  he  read  Vir- 
gil ;  and  a  merry  devil  it  is,  and  graceful  withal.  It 
is  a  pity  he  has  written  so  many  commonplaces,  so 
many  bars  full  of  mere  chatter,  and  overtures  so  full 
of  cant  and  puHing.  But  this  exuberance  appears  to 
be  a  constituent  part  of  him.  It  is  the  hey-day  in  his 
blood  ;  and  perhaps  we  could  no  more  have  the  good 
things  without  it  than  some  men  of  wit  can  talk  well 
without  a  bottle  of  wine  and  in  the  midst  of  a  great 
deal  of  nonsense.  Now  and  then  he  gives  us  some- 
thing worthy  of  the  most  popular  names  of  his  coun- 


292  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

try,  as  in  the  instance  above  mentioned.  Dl  placer 
is  full  of  smiling  delight  and  anticipation,  as  the  words 
imply.  Sometimes  he  is  not  deficient  even  in  tender- 
ness, as  in  one  or  two  airs  in  his  Othello  ;  but  it  is 
his  liveliest  operas,  such  as  the  jBarbiere  di  Seviglia 
and  the  Italiana  in  Algierl  that  he  shines.  His 
mobs  make  some  of  the  pleasantest  riots  conceivable  ; 
his  more  gentlemanly  proceedings,  his  bows  and  com- 
pliments, are  full  of  address  and  even  elegance,  and 
he  is  a  prodigious  hand  at  a  piece  of  pretension  or 
foppery.  Not  to  see  into  his  merit  in  these  cases,  sure- 
ly implies  only,  that  there  is  a  want  of  animal  spirits 
on  the  part  of  the  observer. 

As  we  are  not  so  fond  of  sharp  criticism,  as  when 
we  were  young  and  knew  not  what  it  was  to  feel  ft, 
we  shall  say  nothing  of  one  or  two  of  the  fair  singers 
on  this  occasion,  except  that  they  did  not  appear  to 
have  a  sufficient  stock  of  the  spirits  we  have  been 
speaking  of.  To  animal  spirits,  animal  spirits  alone 
can  do  justice.  A  burst  of  joy  will  be  ill  represented 
by  the  sweetest  singing  in  the  world  that  is  not  joy- 
ous, and  that  does  not  burst  forth  like  a  shower  of 
blossoms.  Of  Miss  Goward's  singing  we  can  yet 
form  no  judgment,  as  she  had  a  very  bad  cold  ;  but 
she  did  her  best  with  it,  and  did  not  apologize,  which 
gave  us  a  favorable  opinion  of  her  ;  and  her  acting 
increased  it.  If  she  does  not  turn  out  to  be  a  very 
judicious  person,  with  a  good  deal  of  humor,  sne  will 
disappoint  us.  Madame  Vestris,  though  she  does  not 
insinuate  a  sufficient  stock  of  sentiment  through  her 
gayeties  to  complete  the  proper  idea  of  a  charmer  to 
our  taste,  is  always  charming  after  her  fashion  ;   but 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  293 

from  what  we  recollect  of  her,  we  doubt  whether  her 
performance  in  this  piece  is  one  of  her  favorite  ones. 
The  song  of  Is't  art,  I  pray,  or  Nature?  she  gave  with 
too  little  vivacity;  and  her  part  in  the  bolero  she 
seemed  to  go  through  more  as  a  duty  than  a  pleasure 
—  which  is  anything  but  boleresque.  ]Mr.  Wood  has 
great  sweetness  of  voice,  with  taste  and  sensibility  ; 
and  the  sweetness  is  manly.  He  was  encored  in  the 
••  romance"  —  Deep  in  a  Dungeon  ;  but  we  preferred 
him  in  his  first  pleasing  air,  Farewell,  thou  Coast  of 
Glory.  VVe  shall  be  glad  to  see  him  again,  and  to  say 
more  of  him.  We  suspect  he  has  more  power  than 
he  yet  puts  forth. 

There  is  no  necessity  to  criticise  the  dialogue.  The 
author  himself  probably  regards  it  as  being  nothing 
more  than  one  of  our  old  unpretending  acquaintances, 
yclept  "vehicles  for  music;"  carriers  of  song,  as 
Messrs.  Clemcnti's  are  of  piano-fortes.  There  is  one 
scene,  however,  upon  which  we  shall  say  a  word.  It 
is  that  in  which  a  maimed  husl)and  comes  back  from 
the  wars,  and  is  received  by  his  wife  with  aversion 
and  ridicule.  It  is  true  the  caricature  is  evident ;  it 
is  the  only  way  in  which  such  feelings  can  be  made 
ludicrous;  but  ti)ere  is  something  in  it  from  which 
the  heart  rev(jlls.  It  is  a  dangerous  point  to  divert 
ridicule  from  its  proper  objects,  and  give  degrading 
lepresentations  of  humanity.  There  is  something, 
too,  on  these  especial  occasions,  wlicn  the  joke  is  cai- 
ried  far  (as  is  the  case  in  violent  double  meanings  in 
company),  by  which  privacy  itself  is  turned  into  pub- 
licity, and  we  i)ecome  painfully  conscious  of  the  pres- 
ence of  those,  with  whom  we  could  bcbt  intercliange 


294  THE    WISHING-CAl'   PAPERS. 

the  most  pleasurable  ideas.  We  profess  to  be  any- 
thing but  prudes ;  we  have  no  objection,  for  instance, 
to  Zanina's  being  reconciled  to  "  little  fellows,"  whose 
ways  are  delightful;  —  but  because  we  are  not  pru- 
dish, we  become  the  more  jealous  in  behalf  of  what 
may  be  called  the  humanities  of  license. 

We  must  own  we  could  not  help  laughing  at  some 
passages  of  Miss  Coward's  acting  in  this  scene ;  and 
perhaps  we  scan  the  matter  somewhat  too  nicely. 
Those  who  laughed  most  would  probably  have  been 
among  the  first  to  hug  the  remnant  of  their  maimed 
friends  to  their  heart.  But  the  experiment  is  danger- 
ous. There  is  not  too  much  sentiment  in  society  after 
all ;  and  it  is  better  not  to  risk  what  there  is.  With 
what  relief  did  we  not  call  to  mind,  in  our  graver 
moments,  the  sight  we  had  once,  in  those  boxes,  on 
the  left  hand,  of  a  charming  woman  sitting  next  her 
gallant  husband,  Colonel  C,  who  had  returned  from 
the  wars  with  the  frightful  loss  of  his  lower  jaw.  His 
wife  married  him  after  his  return  ;  and  this,  we  were 
told,  was  she.  He  had  his  mouth  and  chin  muffled 
up.  But  how  did  he  not  seem  more  than  repaid  in 
her  sweet  and  loving  presence,  which  we  fancied  that 
she  pressed  still  closer  to  him  than  was  visible  in  that 
of  any  other  woman  seated  by  her  husband's  side. 
When  she  looked  in  his  face,  we  felt  as  if  we  could 
almost  have  been  content  to  have  lost  the  power  of 
kissing  with  lips,  that  we  might  have  received  in  all 
its  beauty  that  kiss  of  the  soul. 

1828. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  295 


LADIES'  BONNETS  IN  THE  THEATRE. 


I 


N  default  of  having  anything  better  to  write  about 
in  our  present  number,  we  beg  leave  to  remon- 
strate with  certain  bonnets,  and  other  enormities, 
with  which  the  ladies  put  out  our  e^'csight  in  the 
theatres.  The  bonnet  is  the  worst.  If  you  sit  right 
behind  it,  it  shall  swallow  up  the  whole  scene.  It 
makes  nothing  of  a  regiment  of  soldiers,  or  a  moun- 
tain, or  a  forest,  or  a  rising  sun  ;  much  less  of  a  hero, 
or  so  insignificant  a  thing  as  a  cottage  and  a  peas- 
ant's family.  You  may  sit  at  the  theatre  a  whole 
evening  and  not  see  the  leading  performer.  Liston's 
face  is  a  glory  obscured.  The  persons  in  your  neigh- 
borhood, provided  they  have  no  bonneted  ladies  be- 
fore them,  shall  revel  in  the  jocose  looks  of  Farren  or 
Dowton,  and  provokingly  reflect  the  merriment  in 
their  own  countenances,  while  you  sit  and  rage  in 
the  shade.  If  you  endeavor  to  strain  a  point,  and 
peep  by  the  side  of  it,  ten  to  one  (since  Fate  notori- 
ously interferes  in  little  things,  and  delights  in  being 
"  contrary,"  as  the  young  ladies  say)  —  ten  to  one  but 
the  bonnet  seizes  that  very  opportunity  of  jerking 
sideways,  and  cutting  off  your  resources.  We  have 
seen  an  enthusiastic  playgoer  settle  himself  in  his  scat, 
and  evidently  congratulate  himself  at  the  evening  he 
was  about  to  enjoy,  when  a  party  of  ladies,  swimming 
into  the  seats  before  him,  have  been  the  ruin  of  all  his 
prospects.     Even    a  head-dress,  without    the    bonnet, 


296  THE    VVISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

sliall  force  you  to  play  at  bo-peep  with  the  stage  half 
the  evening;  now  extinguishing  the  face  of  some  fa- 
vorite actress,  and  now  abolishing  a  general  or  a 
murder.  The  other  night,  at  the  Qiieen's  Theatre, 
we  sometimes  found  ourselves  obliged  to  peep  at  the 
Freemasons  in  a  very  symbolical  manner  through  the 
loops  of  a  lady's  bows.  But  the  bonnet  is  the  enor- 
mity. And  we  are  sorry  to  say  that  the  fair  occu- 
pants who  sit  inside  them,  like  the  lady  in  the  lobster, 
too  often  show  a  want  of  gallantry  in  refusing  to  take 
them  oil";  for,  as  we  have  said  more  than  once,  we 
hold  gallantry,  like  all  the  other  virtues,  to  be  a  thing' 
mutual,  and  of  both  sexes  ;  and  that  a  lady  shows  as 
much  want  of  gallantry  in  taking  advantage  of  the 
delicacies  observed  towards  her  by  the  gentlemen,  as 
a  man  does  who  presumes  upon  the  gentleness  of  a 
lady.  We  felt,  the  other  night,  all  the  i-eforming 
spirit  of  our  illustrious  predecessors  of  the  Tatler  and 
Spectator  roused  within  us,  and  in  the  same  exact 
proportion  to  our  regard  for  the  sex  upon  witnessing 
the,  following  prodigious  fact:  A  lady,  who  came 
with  a  party  into  one  of  the  boxes  at  Covent  Garden, 
joined  very  heartily  in  expressing  her  disapprobation 
of  some  person  in  a  seat  below  her,  who  was  dilatory 
in  taking  off  his  hat.  It  chanced  that  this  lady  got 
into  the  very  seat  that  he  had  occupied,  and  her  bon- 
net turning  out  to  be  a  much  greater  blind  than  the 
liat,  what  was  the  astonishment  and  the  merriment  of 
the  complainants,  upon  finding  that  she  was  still  less 
accommodating  than  the  gentleman  ?  Nothing  could 
induce  her  to  perform  the  very  same  piece  of  justice 
which  she  had  joined  in  demanding  from  the  other. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  297 

We  are  aware  that  in  modern,  as  in  ancient  thea- 
tres, ladies  come  to  be  seen  as  well  as  to  see. 

"  Spectatum  veniunt,  veniunt  spectenturut  ipsse.". 

But  we  are  desirous  that  they  should  not  pay  them- 
selves so  ill  a  coinpliment  as  to  confound  their  dresses 
with  themselves ;  it  is  the  bonnets  that  are  seen,  in 
these  cases,  and  not  the  ladies.  When  seen  them- 
selves, they  make  a  part  of  the  spectacle,  but  who 
cares  to  look  upon  these  great  lumps  of  gauze  and 
silk.-*  Something  is  to  be  allowed  to  fashion,  but  the 
wearers  might  be  content  with  showing  that  their 
heads  could  be  as  absurd  as  other  people's,  and  then 
lay  aside  the  absurdity,  and  show  that  they  under- 
stood the  better  part  of  being  reasonable.  They  urge, 
when  requested  to  take  their  bonnets  off,  that  they 
"  cannot "  do  it ;  meaning,  we  suppose,  besides  the 
"will  not,"  which  "cannot"  so  often  signifies,  that 
their  heads  are  not  prepared  to  be  seen  —  that  their 
hair  is  not  dressed  in  the  proper  manner  ;  but  it  would 
be  easy  to  come  with  it  so  dressed  ;  the  bonnet  is  not 
the  only  head-dress  in  fashion ;  and,  above  all,  it 
would  be  a  graceful  and  a  sensible  thing  to  remember, 
that  in  coming  to  a  place  where  the  object  is  to  enjoy 
pleasure,  their  own  capability  of  pleasure  is  interested 
in  considering  tliat  of  others.  We  never  feci  angry 
with  a  woman  except  when  siie  persists  in  doing 
something  to  diminish  the  delight  we  take  in  com- 
plimenting the  sex. 
1831. 


2C)8  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


MOLIERE'S   TARTUFFE. 


''  i  ^HERE  is  something  very  delightful  in  the  friend- 
_|_  liness  of  intercourse  that  has  sprung  up  between 
France  and  England  since  the  late  troubles.  Cabi- 
nets may  quarrel  again,  and  wars  be  renewed  ;  but 
the  more  intimacy  there  is  in  the  mean  time  between 
the  two  nations,  the  less  they  will  be  disposed  to  be 
gulled  into  those  royal  amusements.  Formerly  this 
kind  of  intercoui'se  was  confined  to  kings  and  cour- 
tiers ;  and  whenever  these  gentlemen  were  disposed  to 
pick  a  quarrel  with  one  another,  the  people  were  sent 
on  to  fight,  like  retainers  to  a  couple  of  great  houses  ; 
their  employers  all  the  while  making  no  more  of  the 
business  than  if  they  were  playing  a  game  of  chess. 
Nations  are  growing  wiser  on  this  head  ;  and  nothing 
will  serve  better  to  secure  their  wisdom  than  an  inter- 
change of  their  socialities  and  an  acquaintance  with 
the  great  writers  that  have  made  them  what  they  are. 
It  was  with  singular  pleasure,  therefore,  that  we 
found  ourselves,  the  other  night,  sitting  at  a  French 
play  in  the  British  metropolis,  and  that  phiy  Moliere's. 
There,  on  the  stage,  was  Moliere,  as  it  were  himself; 
there  spoke  his  very  words,  warm  as  when  he  first 
uttered  them ;  there  he  triumphed  over  hypocrisy, 
and  was  wise  and  entertaining  and  immortal.  But 
what,  in  the  mean  time,  had  become  of  Louis  the 
Fourteenth  and  his  splendor.'*  What  of  all  those  lords 
and  courtiers,  who  used  to  make  a  brilliant  assemblage 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  399 

around  him  (we  could  not  help  fancying  them  in  this 
very  pit),  and  praising  or  withholding  their  praise  of 
the  immortal  man,  as  the  king  spoke  or  held  his 
tongue?  Gone  is  all  that  once  filled  that  splendid 
"  parterre,"  like  the  flowers  of  any  other  garden : 
gone  all  their  plumes,  and  ribbons,  and  pulvilio,  and 
their  bowing  gallantries,  and  the  very  love  that  here 
and  there  lurked  among  them,  like  a  violet  among 
the  tulips:  but  there  stood  the  spirit  of  Moliere,  as 
fresh  as  ever,  and  casting  on  their  memory  (when 
you  thought  of  it)  its  only  genuine  lustre. 

It  is  curious  to  think  how  this  great  writer  had  to 
win  his  way  into  toleration  through  the  prejudices 
attached  to  a  stage  life  ;  and  how  he  depended  upon 
men  who  were  comparatively  nothing  for  an  intima- 
tion to  the  rest  of  the  world,  that  a  great  and  origi- 
nal  genius  was  really  worth  something.  It  is  to  tlic 
credit  of  Louis,  that  lie  managed  his  kingship  in  this 
matter  in  good  taste,  and  allowed  the  genius  of  Moli- 
^•re  to  be  pittctl  against  the  marquises  and  grimaciers 
of  his  court.  If  he  had  not  stood  by  him,  those  but- 
terflies tiic  pctits-fuaiires,  and  those  blackbeetles  the 
priests,  had  fairly  stifled  him.  It  was  lucky  that  he 
wrote  when  tiie  king  was  no  older,  and  before  he  had 
become  su|)erstitious.  It  gives  one  a  prodigious  idea 
of  the  assiunption  of  those  times,  and  the  low  pitch  at 
which  an  actor  could  be  rated  in  spite  of  his  being  a 
great  genius,  that  a  shallow  man  of  quality  having 
found  something  ridiculous  in  Molidre's  mention  of 
a  "  cream  tart"  in  one  of  his  comedies,  and  not  liking 
the  raillery  with  which  the  author  treated  his  criti- 
cism, contriveil  to  lav  hold  of  his  head  one  d;'>v  as  the 


300  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

actor  made  him  a  bow,  and  crying  out,  "  Tartc  a  la 
crcine^  MoUerel  Tarte  a  la  crcme!"  rubbed  his  face 
against  his  cut-steel  buttons,  till  it  was  covered  with 
blood.  For  this  brutality  it  never  entered  any  one's 
head  that  an  actor  could  have  a  remedy  except  in 
complaining  to  the  king;  which  the  poet  did,  and  the 
peer  was  disgraced.  Another  anecdote,  to  the  same 
purport,  is  more  agreeably  relieved.  Moliere,  by  way 
of  being  honored,  and  set  on  a  level  with  gentlemen, 
had  been  made  one  of  his  Majesty's  valets-de-chambre. 
Presenting  himself  one  day  to  make  the  royal  bed,  his 
helper  abruptly  i^etired,  saying  that  he  should  not 
make  it  "  with  an  actor."  Bellocq,  another  valet-de- 
chambre,  a  man  of  a  good  deal  of  wit,  and  a  maker 
of  pretty  verses,  happening  to  come  in  at  this  junc- 
ture, said,  "  Perhaps  AI.  de  Moliere  will  do  me  the 
honor  of  allowing  me  to  make  the  king's  bed  with 
him."  Moliere  w^as  a  man  of  great  heart,  very  gener- 
ous, but  sensitive  also,  and  subject,  in  the  midst  of  his 
pleasantries,  to  that  melancholy  which  is  so  often 
found  in  the  company  of  wit.  Any  delicacy  towards 
him  must,  therefore,  have  been  extremely  felt,  tliough 
on  the  subject  of  scorn  and  arrogance  he,  doubtless, 
had  no  proportionate  soreness  at  heart.  His  wisdom 
and  genuine  superiority  must  have  saved  him  from 
that.  It  was  on  the  side  of  his  sympathies,  and  not 
his  antipathies,  that  Moliere  was  weak.  He  troubled 
himself  with  a  wife  too  young  for  him  :  and  after 
having  i"idiculed  jealousy  in  his  comedies,  was  fain  to 
acknowledge  that  he  felt  it  in  all  its  bitterness  him- 
self. Candor  takes  away  the  degrading  part  of  these 
mortifications,  but   the   sting   is   there,  nevertheless. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  3OI 

What  endears  us  the  more  to  his  sincerity,  and  to  tlie 
habitual  kindness  of  his  heart,  is  his  sa3ung  to  his 
friend  Chappelle,  whom  he  made  his  father  confessor 
on  this  occasion,  that  "  finding  how  impossible  it  was 
to  conquer  his  jealousv,  he  began  to  think  that  it 
might  be  equallv  impossible  in  tlie  object  of  his  af- 
fections to  get  rid  of  her  coquetry."  The  worst  of 
it  was,  that  their  ages  were  unequal.  His  young  wife 
(the  daughter  of  an  actress  in  his  corps  dramatique., 
which  gave  rise  to  a  scandal  refuted  by  the  date  of 
their  connection)  was  herself  an  actress,  beautiful, 
and  surrounded  with  admirers.  She  probably  loved 
the  poet  as  well  as  she  could,  but  found  that  she  loved 
people  of  her  own  age  better ;  while  he,  taking  his 
undying  admiration  of  beauty  for  a  right  to  possess  it, 
forgot,  till  too  late,  that  poets'  hearts  remain  young 
much  longer  than  their  persons.  The  consequence 
was,  that  two  people,  both  of  them,  perhaps,  verj' 
worthy,  became  a  grief  and  torment  to  one  another, 
merely  because  incompatible  marriages  are  permitted  ; 
for  Molierc  had  been  a  great  ridiculer  of  marriage, 
and  there,  no  doubt,  lay  a  good  part  of  the  sting.  He 
should  have  gone  abroad  more  out  of  the  society  of 
his  corps  draviatique^  and  foimd  some  charmer  to 
love  less  unsuital)lc  to  his  time  of  life.  There  arc 
born  poetesses,  in  their  way,  among  the  women,  whom 
temperance  and  the  graces  help  to  keep  young  even 
in  person,  and  often  in  a  more  touching  manner  than 
the  young  antl  thoughtless.  Molidre  should  have  laid 
his  laurelled  head  in  the  lap  of  one  of  these.  She 
might  have  repaid  his  candor  and  tenderness  with  a 
like  generosity. 


303  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

But  we  arc  forgetting  the  play.  —  The  house  (the 
Lyceum)  opened  ibr  these  performances  last  Wednes- 
day. It  has  been  newly  fitted  up  for  the  purpose, 
with  fresh  mouldings  or  compartments  round  the 
boxes  (we  forget  exactly  what),  and  a  drapery  of  scar- 
let antl  white,  very  handsorhe.  The  prices,  to  nearly 
the  whole  of  the  pit,  remain  the  same  as  before,  three 
and  sixpence  ;  but  six  shillings  are  paid  for  seats  on  a 
bench  or  two,  and  seven  for  those  in  a  part  of  the 
orchestra.  Some  boxes  may  be  taken  by  the  evening 
at  two,  three,  and  four  guineas,  according  to  the  num- 
ber of  persons  and  the  situation  of  the  box.  The  rest 
are  let  for  the  season  at  prices  which  look  enormous  ; 
being  eight}-,  one  hundred  and  twenty,  or  one  hunth^ed 
and  sixty  guineas  for  forty  nights.  Tlie  performances 
will  be  three  times  a  week,  Monday,  Wednesday,  and 
Friday,  till  Lent.  Money  is  not  taken  at  the  door. 
There  is  a  list  of  the  places  v^'here  you  can  get  tickets, 
at  the  bottom  of  the  play-bill,  such  as  the  booksellers, 
in  Bond  Street ;  Marsh's,  in  Oxford  Street ;  Wilson's, 
at  the  Royal  Exchange,  &c.  We  bought  ours  at  Mr. 
Neele's,  a  door  or  two  on  the  left  of  the  main  en- 
trance to  the  theatre  out  of  the  Strand  ;  wiiich  we 
mention  in  order  to  show  that  people  may  go  as  usual, 
with  no  more  trouble  than  if  they  paid  at  the  door. 

The  performances  of  the  evening  were  Tartuffe, 
followed  by  a  coronation  of  the  bust  of  Moliere  ;  La 
Fllle  tfial  gard^e^  a  vaudeville  in  one  act,  and 
L^ Arnbassadcjir^  another,  in  which  Perlet,  who  acted 
Tartuftc,  and  who  is  the  principal  performer  of  the 
company,  reappeared  in  the  chief  character.  We 
shall  confine  ourselves  to    the  first  piece,  which,  in- 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  303 

deed,  is  the  only  one  we  saw,  and  which  is  quite 
sufficient  to  see  and  to  think  about  for  one  time.  Our 
observations  upon  it  will  not  be  directed  to  scholars 
only,  and  readers  of  French  ;  but,  agreeably  to  the 
plan  pursued  bv  us  in  a  former  publication,  we  shall 
endeavor  to  give  all  such  readers  as  have  a  relish  for 
what  is  good,  a  taste  of  it  somehow  or  other,  let  them 
have  missed  scholarship,  great  or  small,  as  they  may. 
French  is  a  very  common  acquirement ;  yet  there  are 
numbers  imablc  to  read  even  French,  who  very  much 
deserve  to  do  so,  and  who  have  a  genuine  perception 
of  a  jxood  thinsf  when  it  comes  before  them. 

Few  readers  need  be  informed,  but  all  will  be  glad 
to  know,  that  the  comedy  of  Tartufle  (from  which  our 
popular  play  of  the  Hypocrite  is  taken,  which  made 
the  selection  of  it  on  this  occasion  every  way  judi- 
cious) mav  be  ranked  among  the  avant  com  icrs  of 
the  knowledge  and  liberality  of  these  times.  It  is  a 
masterly  satire  upon  religious  hypocrisy;  and  on  its 
first  appearance  at  Paris,  in  an  age  full  of  well-fed  devo- 
tees and  gallant  confessors,  was  received  accordingly. 
The  first  three  acts  were  brought  out  originally  before 
tiie  court  at  Versailles,  in  the  year  1664;  but  what 
may  be  called  the  first  public  representation  of  the 
entire  piece  did  not  take  place  till  1667,  when  it  was 
performctl  at  Paris,  and  prohibited  next  day  by  an 
order  from  the  First  President  of  Parliament.  ISIoli- 
erc  himself  had  to  announce  the  prohibition,  which 
he  did  in  the  following  manner :  "  Gentlemen,  we 
reckoned  this  evening  upon  having  the  honor  of  pre- 
senting you  witii  the  Hypocrite;  but  M<Mibicur  the 
First  President  does  not  wish  us  to  play  him."     Our 


304  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

author  must  have  reckoned  very  confidently  on  the 
king's  protection  to  be  able  to  joke  in  this  manner.* 
The  time,  indeed,  was  lucky  for  him  so  far.  Louis 
was  then  young  and  gay,  and  equally  victorious  in  war 
and  gallantry.  He  had  a  minister  the  avowed  patron 
of  men  of  letters  (Colbert),  and  a  general  who  loved 
humor  and  original  genius  (Turenne).t  He  did  not 
think  fit  to  let  the  piece  re-appear  for  a  year  or  two  ; 
but  ]SIoliere  remained  on  the  best  terms  with  him  ; 
and,  in  1669,  Tartufte  rose  again  in  spite  of  its  ene- 
mies, and  has  remained  ever  since  a  stock  acting 
piece,  —  the  glory  of  the  French  stage  and  the  hatred 
of  bigots  and  impostors.  Perhaps  they  are  more  bit- 
ter against  it  in  their  hearts  this  very  moment  than 
they  have  been  for  these  hundred  years  ;  the  Jesuits 
having  trimmed  their  dark  lanterns  once  more,  and 
pieces  of  this  kind  offering  the  most  insurmountable 
barriers  against  the  reaction  of  priestcraft.J 

It  has  been  thought  curious  bv  some,  that   in  the 


*  Another  turn  was  given  to  this  bon-mot  i;i  one  of  the  provinces.  The  bish- 
op, in  a  place  where  they  were  going  to  perform  the  comedy,  had  lately  died. 
His  successor  was  not  equally  disposed  in  favor  of  theatrical  representations  ;  and 
orders  were  given  to  the  actors  that  they  should  quit  the  town  before  he  made  his 
appearance,  which  he  was  to  do  the  next  day.  Accordingly,  when  the  time  was 
come  for  giving  out  the  performances  of  the  next  evening,  the  announcer,  affect- 
ing not  to  know  that  his  lordship  was  to  arrive  so  soon,  said,  "  The  Hypocrite, 
gentlemen,  to-morrow." 

t  See  in  the  works  of  La  Fontaine  a  pleasant  account  of  a  chat  that  took  place 
on  the  road  between  Turenne  and  that  poet,  when  the  former  was  on  his  way  to 
one  of  his  campa:gns. 

t  The  speech  of  Father  Nitard  to  the  Duke  of  Lerma  may  be  taken  as  a  speci- 
men of  the  pitch  of  insolence,  worthy  of  Tartuffe,  to  which  priests  could  be  trans- 
ported m  those  days.  He  was  a  Jesuit,  and  confessor  to  Louis's  mother-in-law, 
the  Queen  of  Spain.  He  told  the  duke  one  day,  "that  he  ought  to  treat  him 
with  more  respect,  as  he  had  every  day  his  God  in  his  hands  (the  Eucharist)  and 
his  Queen  at  his  feet." 


ESSAYS   AND    SKETCHES.  305 

English  Hypocrite  the  ridicule  should  be  confined  to 
sectarians,  while  in  the  original  it  attacks  hypocrites 
of  the  establishment.     This  is  to  be  accounted  for  on 
a  variety  of  grounds.     In  tlie  first  place,  tlie  Catholic 
establishment,   especially  as   it  existed   in   France  at 
that  time,  did  not  make  such  an  exclusive  matter  of 
diflcrence   of  opinion   as   the  hierarchy   in  England  ; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  certain  disputes  in  it  were 
so  fierce,  and  yet  all  parties  pretended  pretty  nearly 
to  such  an  equal   measure  of  piety,   that  to   make  a 
heterodox  person   of  the  Tartuft'e    would   have  been 
absolutely  to  neutralize  the  satire  on   hypocrisy.     It 
would   have  been   a  mere   party  libel.     An   English 
Methodist  pretends  to  peculiar   sanctity  ;  but  formal- 
ists of  a  similar  description    in  France  were   hardly 
known  till  a  later  period.     Again,  a  Catholic  estab- 
lishment  is   of  a   much    more    miscellaneous    nature 
than  a  Protestant;  admits  a  host  of  lay  members,  and 
otherwise  affords  pretences  for  quacks  and  hypocrites 
of  all  sorts.     It  is  a  much  larger  world,  in  which  vice 
may  be  found  in  the  particular,  with  less  oH'ence   to 
the  main  body.     Tiien,  again,  there  is  confession,  and 
the   admission  of  interferers  and  regulators   into  the 
tcndcrest    privacies  of  life.     These  people  were  very 
often  at  variance  with  the  rest  of  the  families  whose 
heads  they  lorded  it  over  (as  Molierc  has  taken   care 
to  show)  ;  they  were  sometimes  very  ollicious  in  slate 
matters  and  at  court,  where,  indeed,  the  clerical  power 
claimed  a  kind  of  sovereignty  of  its  own,  independent 
of  that  of  the  civil  and  executive  (a  pretension  against 
which  our  aiiti-pf)pL'rv   men    are    still    warning  us)  ; 
and,  above  all,  at  the  time  when  Moliere  wrote,  the 
20 


306  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

king  was  not  only  young  and  gay,  and  inclined  to 
"  cut  "  his  religious  mortifiers,  but  the  Great  Conde, 
then  in  favor,  was  a  sworn  enemy  of  bigots  ;  the  Pope 
had  not  long  since  been  bearded  by  the  French  au- 
thorities in  Rome  ;  cardinals  and  bishops  were,  for 
the  most  part,  laymen  at  heart,  and  mixed  not  only 
with  politics  but  with  the  pleasui'es  of  life  ;  in  short,  the 
"  cloth,"  as  a  matter  of  any  solemnity,  was  at  a  disad- 
vantage ;  and  to  pretend  to  an  unusual  measure  of 
sanctity  was,  in  some  sort,  to  ofiend  priests  as  well  as 
laymen.  Moliere  himself  tells  us  that  he  had  the 
approbation  of  the  Legate  ;  and  that  the  greater  part 
of  the  bishops,  to  whom  he  had  taken  care  to  read 
his  work,  were  "  of  the  same  way  of  tjiinking  as  his 
Majesty."  *  Nevertheless,  a  tremendous  cry  was 
raised  against  it,  even  before  it  appeared.  The  author 
was  called,  he  tells  us,  a  libertine,  a  blasphemer,  a 
devil  incarnate  :  and  no  sooner  was  it  brought  out, 
than  very  wortliy  people,  acted  upon  by  the  cries  of 
bigotry,  joined  in  the  wish  to  have  it  suppressed.  The 
President  of  Parliament,  who  agreed  to  become  the 
instrument  of  the  suppression,  was  the  celebrated 
Lamoignon,  the  friend  of  Boileau,  and  reckoned  one 
of  the  best  men  in  the  world.  Boileau  helped  liim, 
perhaps,  afterwards  to  a  better  judgment.  Menage 
tells  us  expressly,  that  he  himself  spoke  to  the  Presi- 
dent about  it,  and  told  him  that  the  moral  of  the 
play  was  excellent,  and  calculated  to  be  of  public 
service.f 

Menage,  in  the  same  passage  of  his  book,  ventures 


*  "Premier  Placet,  prc^scntsS  au  Roi,  sur  la  comedie  du  TartufiFe." 
t  Menagiana,  p.  43.     Edit.  1694. 


ESSAYS    AXD    SKETCHES.  307 

to  prefer  Moliere's  prose  to  his  verses.  That  learned 
wit  had  no  very  great  taste  in  verses  at  any  time,  and 
had  been  accustomed  to  a  very  bad  taste  in  particular, 
which  Moliere  rooted  out.  The  classical  scholar  was 
judicious  and  generous  enough  at  the  time  to  acknowl- 
edge the  reformation  ;  but,  perhaps,  he  never  heartily 
forgot  his  old  propensities.  Perhaps,  also,  he  grudged 
Moliere  that  extraordinary  facility  in  versifying,  whicJi 
Boileau  has  recorded  with  astonishment.* 

The  happy  power  for  which  Boileau  here  praises 
his  friend,  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  things  in  the 
Tartufle.  Those  who  know  the  Hypocrite  of  the 
English  stage,  know  the  other  in  a  certain  way;  and 
know  it  well.  But  there  is  no  comparison  in  the  two 
styles ;  every  word  telling  with  double  force  in  the 
Frenchman's  mouth,  and  uniting  with  the  familiarity 
of  prose  the  terseness  of  wit  in  rhyme.  Let  the  read- 
er imagine  the  best  colloquial  verses  of  Drydcn  or 
Pope,  full  of  wit  and  humor,  uttering  the  finest  knowl- 
edge of  life,  comprising  a  plot  no  less  interesting  than 
simple,  agitating  the  feelings  deeply  before  they  have 
done,  and  dismissing  the  audience  in  the  most  gener- 
ous disposition  for  ti  uth  ;  and  they  have  a  picture  of 
this  great  and  perfect  comedy.  An  English  audience, 
in  their  own  language,  could  nut  relish  a  comedy  in 
rh\  me  so  well  as  the  French  can.  Tlicir  manners 
arc  less  conscious  and  mixed  up.  They  could  not  so 
easily  take  an  artificial  grace  for  a  natural  one.  But 
heard  through  the  dimness  of  a  language  not  habitual 


•  Mijnas"^  tclU  us,  th.it  when  he  Iiltn»clf  sat  clown  (o  wrilc  vcrscn,  he  (ir»t 
"got  toK'^ihcT  "  his  "rhymes  ;  "  and  th.it  his  rhymes  sometimes  took  him  three 
or  four  months  to  "fill  up"  !  —  Id.  p.  261. 


308  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

to  US,  we  become  just  enough  sensible  of  the  grace 
and  power  of  the  versification -to  admire  the  comedy 
the  more,  without  being  the  less  sensible  of  its  truth 
and  nature. 

In  venturing  to  lay  a  scene  of  it  before  the  reader, 
we  have,  therefore,  not  ventured  to  do  it  in  rhyme. 
It  is,  indeed,  an  injustice  to  the  author,  in  one  sense, 
not  to  do  so  (supposing  we  were  able  to  do  it)  ;  but 
it  would  be  hurting  the  effect  of  his  truth  and  humor, 
which  are  the  greater  matters.  We  have  selected  the 
scene  more  particularly,  because  it  exhibits  what  we 
conceive  to  be  the  greatest  and  most  original  trait  in 
the  author's  genius;  to  wit,  his  delight  in  putting  a 
good,  broad,  sustained,  and  even  farcial-looking  joke, 
knowing  it  to  be  founded  in  exquisite  truth,  and  re- 
solving to  relish  it  with  us,  unalloyed,  for  that  reason. 
It  is  the  spirit  ?ir\d  gusto  of  the  truth,  taking  place  of 
the  formal  image  ;  and  only  making  us  hail  and  in- 
corporate with  it  the  more.  The  scene  is  between 
Orgon,  the  credulous  master  of  the  house,  who  makes 
an  idol  of  Tartutle,  and  Dorina,  the  servant,  a  great 
enemy  of  the  impostor,  and  burning  to  see  him  de- 
tected. Tartuffe  has  not  yet  made  his  appearance, 
and  this  is  the  first  time  Orgon  has  made  his.  Let 
the  reader  admire  the  singular  skill  with  which,  in 
the  midst  of  this  "joke  run  down,"  the  audience  are 
let  into  the  interior  of  the  host's  credulity,  and  of 
Tartuffe's  power  and  worldliness.  Orgon  says  but 
two  things  alternately  throughout ;  and  the  performer 
must  be  imagined  at  once  giving  us  a  sense  of  this 
monotony  of  ideas,  and  varying  the  expression  of 
them  for  the  true  comic  effect.     A  little  pause  must 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  309 

be  fancied  occasionally,  and  a  face  full  of  meaning. 
The  author  of  the  Hypocrite  has  not  ventured  upon 
it; — but  imagine  it  in  the  hands  of  IMunden  I  To 
complete  the  scene,  Orgou's  brother-in-law,  another 
enemy  of  Tartufle's,  is  present,  wondering  all  the 
while  at  his  infatuation.  Orgon  has  just  come  from 
the  country,  and  after  interchanging  civilities  with 
his  brother,  begs  him  to  excuse  him  a  little  while  he 
talks  with  the  servant,  and  asks  after  the  welfare  of 
his  house.     He  addresses  her  accordingl)'- :  — 

"Well,  Dorina,  has  even'thing  been  going  on  as  it  should  do  these  two  days? 
How  do  they  all  do?     And  what  have  they  been  about? 

Dor.  My  mistress  was  ill  ihe  day  before  yesterday  with  a  fever.  She  had  a 
headache  qoite  dreadful  \fi  think  of 

Org.  A  nd  Tartuffe  ? 

Dor.  Tartuffe  I  O,  he  is  wonderfully  well  ;  fat  and  hearty,  a  fresh  com- 
plexion, and  a  inouth  as  red  as  a  rose. 

Org.   (turning  about  with  an  air  of  fondness).     Poor  soul  I 

Dor.  In  the  evening  my  mistress  was  taken  with  a  sickness,  and  could  not 
touch  a  bit  of  supper,  her  head  was  so  bad. 

Org.  A  nd  Tartuffe  ? 

Dor.  O,  seeing  she  could  not  eat,  he  eat  by  himself;  and  very  devoutly 
swallowed  two  partridges,  with  a  good  half  of  a  hashed  leg  of  mutton. 

Org.  Poor  soul  I 

Dor.  My  mistress  did  not  shut  her  eyes  all  night.  The  fever  hindered 
her  from  getting  a  wink  of  sleep,  and  wc  were  obliged  to  watch  by  her  till 
morning. 

Org.   And  Tartuffe  t 

Dor.  Tartuffe,  happy  gentleman,  with  a  comfortable  yawn,  goes  right  from 
table  to  bed,  where  he  plunges  info  his  warm  nest,  and  sleeps  soundly  till 
morning. 

Org.   Poor  soul ! 

Dor.  At  last  we  prevailed  upon  Madame  to  be  bled,  which  gave  her  gr.  jt 
relief. 

Org.   And  Tartuffe  f 

Dor.  Monsieur  Tartuffe  was  very  much  relieved  also.  He  found  himself 
charming,  and  to  repair  the  loss  of  the  blood  which  Madame  had  sustained,  took 
four  draughts  of  wine  with  his  breakfa><t. 

Org.  Poor  soul  I 

Dor.  In  short,  both  arc  very  well  now  :  so  I'll  go  and  tell  my  mistreM  you 
•re  coming,  and  how  harpy  you  arc  to  hc.ir  sh-  i^  recovered." 


3IO  THE    AVISIUNG-CAP    PAPERS. 

We  have  left  ourselves  very  little  room  to  speak  of 
the  actors.  In  fact,  we  must  see  them  again  before 
we  can  venture  to  speak  much  ;  and  then  we  shall 
feel  diffident,  except  in  speaking  of  what  all  the  world 
may  judge  of.  French  nature  is,  in  some  respects,  so 
different  from  ours,  —  we  mean  that  the  same  nature, 
where  great  passions  are  not  concerned,  exhibits 
itself  in  such  various  ways  through  the  medium  of 
national  manners,  —  that  all  critics  ought  to  be  cau- 
tious how  they  pronounce  upon  it,  especially  those 
who  know  more  of  the  language  in  books  than  as  it 
is  spoken  ;  which  we  confess  to  be  our  case.  We 
shall  therefore  wait,  and  judge  cautiously.  Mean- 
time, we  cannot  help  saying,  that  M.  Perlet  appears 
to  us  a  performer  of  the  very  first  merit,  full,  both  of 
sensibility  and  judgment,  relishing,  self-possessed, 
various,  —  "  up,"  as  the  phrase  is,  to  every  situation, 
and  every  part  of  it ;  and  with  an  equal  perception 
of  the  gravest  as  well  as  the  lightest  things  he  has  to 
say.  There  was  an  air  of  singular  depth  and  inten- 
tion throughout  his  performance  ;  and  when  he  turned 
with  that  preternatural  insolence  of  heart,  after  his 
detection,  and  pausing  before  he  spoke,  with  his  arm 
up,  and  an  air  of  frightful  preparation,  told  the  master 
of  the  house  "  to  go  out  of  the  house  himself,  for  it 
was  his,"  —  there  was  something  gliastly  and  awful 
in  it.  The  house  was  so  still  we  felt  as  if  we  could 
almost  have  heard  the  rain  out  of  doors.  Yet  the 
same  man,  we  are  told,  is  wonderful  in  clowns  and 
idiots,  and  is  but  a  young  actor.  We  must  not  forget 
Madame  Daudel,  a  sort  of  younger  Mrs.  Davison  ; 
very  pleasant.     She  acted  Dorina.      1828. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  3II 


HEREDITARY   HOUSE   OF  PLAYERS. 

THE  other  day  we  heard  of  an  indiscreet  young 
Lord,  who  took  it  in  his  head  to  perform  on  a 
private  stage,  and  performed  very  badly.  This  is  the 
consequence  of  people  going  out  of  their  spheres  : 
an  eccentricity,  which  the  wisest  cannot  be  guilty  of 
with  impunity.  Had  this  tyro  of  quality,  by  the  de- 
cease of  the  Peer,  his  brother,  found  himself  in  his 
right  element,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
he  would,  of  course,  have  displayed  a  talent  for  legis- 
lation, because  he  inherits  it.  He  may  appear,  for 
the  present,  to  be  nothing  but  a  dandy  and  a  foolish 
fellow,  but  the  moment  he  got  there,  we  should  have 
his  first  wise  speech  ;  and  all  the  speeches  that  fol- 
lowed would  be  equally  wise.  To  hear  him  talk  just 
now,  not  being  a  Peer,  we  allow  might  lead  people 
to  suppose  that  he  could  do  nothing  but  swear,  and 
say  "  By  G — d,"  and  gamble,  and  babble  of  wine  and 
women ;  but  only  let  the  Peer,  his  brother,  make 
room  for  him,  only  let  him  seat  himself  on  the  magic 
bench  and  wisdom  shall  flow  from  his  lips;  no  cjues- 
tion,  however  knotty,  shall  come  amiss  to  him  :  points, 
which  the  House  of  Commons  could  not  decide, 
shall  come  before  him  to  be  settled,  and  he  shall  set- 
tle them  well :  the  whole  country  shall  be  satisfied  : 
his  tenants  shall  rejoice,  especially  if  he  has  given 
them  reasons  why  three  parts  of  tiicm  arc  to  be 
ejected  from  their  houses;  he  shall  disburse,  till  one 


312  THE   WISHING-CAP   PAPERS. 

in  the  morninf^,  jurisprudence,  eloquence,  wisdom,  and 
taxation,  all  by  virtue  of  tlie  noble  cock-fighter  his 
ancestor,  whom  Charles  the  Second  gifted  with  those 
accomplishments  by  patent,  and  then  roll  to  the  gam- 
ing-house in  his  carriage  to  swear,  and  say  "  By 
G — d,"  and  gamble,  and  babble  of  wine  and  women, 
out  of  pure  refreshment  after  the  fatigues  of  sapience. 

Now  only  fancy  an  actor  attempting  to  legislate  by 
virtue  of  Jiis  ancestors.  It  is  clear  the  man  would  be 
preposterous.  Had  the  late  Mr.  Kemble  stood  up  in 
the  House  of  Lords,  and  after  his  best  consideration 
of  the  matter  in  hand,  attempted  to  make  a  speech, 
who  supposes  that  he  could  have  at  all  equalled  my 
Lord  Grey.''  Who  fancies  that  Garrick  could  have 
risen  there,  and  shown  any  wit,  however  sharp  and 
epigrammatic  he  may  have  been  in  the  green-room.? 
Who  thinks  that  Mr.  Kean  could  even  have  looked 
clever  ;  that  Mr.  Charles  Kemble,  not  having  a  Lord 
to  his  father,  could  have  had  the  least  aspect  of  no- 
bility ;  or  that  Mr.  Dowton  or  Mr.  Farren  could 
have  been  as  facetious  as  the  Duke  of  Newcastle? 

On  the  other  hand,  if  we  could  but  discover  the 
descendants  of  Garrick  and  the  other  actors  of  past 
times,  great  or  small,  what  a  House  might  we  not 
have  of  hereditary  performers  !  That  polity  would 
be  quite  feasible,  and  it  is  astonishing  that  no  aris- 
tocrat of  histrionic  propensities  ever  thought  of  it. 
When  Charles  the  Second  had  his  Richmonds,  Graf- 
ton, St.  Albans,  and  other  little  dukes,  he  doubted 
whether  some  of  them  ought  to  have  been  dukes,  see- 
ing that  their  mothers  were  actresses.  What  a  pity 
the  idea  did  not  come  into  his  head  of  giving  a  new 


ESSAYS   AND   SKETCiiES.  313 

kind  of  patent  to  Drury  Lane,  and  making  them  and 
their  descendants  actors  forever !  What  a  pity  that, 
while  he  \vas  ennobling  the  children  of  the  Cleve- 
lands,  Querouailles,  and  other  illustrious  ladies,  and 
rearing  up  legislators  out  of  their  lightness,  he  did  not 
en-histr ionize  the  sons  of  the  Nell  Gvvynnes,  Bct- 
tertons,  Lacys,  and  others,  whose  hereditary  powers 
of  performing  Hamlet  and  Macbeth  might  have 
charmed  us  to  the  end  of  time  !  That  this  might 
have  been  done,  whatever  Jacobin  critics  pretend,  is 
proved  by  the  existence  of  our  hereditary  lawgivers. 
To  give  law  is  no  easy  task.  Our  peers  are  jealous  in 
vindicating  its  dignity,  and  in  protesting  that  the  vul- 
gar are  unfit  for  it.  To  be  sure  there  is  the  House  of 
Commons,  who  are  legislators  and  not  hereditary  ; 
but  they  would  make  sad  work  of  it  without  the 
peers.  In  fact,  they  do  but  represent  the  peers,  just 
as  a  lower  house  of  players  might  perform  under 
the  auspices  of  an  upper,  and  say  nothing  but  what 
the  great  lords  and  box-mongers  of  Drury  and  Co- 
vent  Garden  allowed  them.  There  is  no  talent 
among  them  ;  no  fit  legislation.  I  low  can  there  be, 
if  legislaljility  can  be  conferred  by  ancestry,  and  is 
thus  a  \\\\\\<gsiii generis?  For  cither  a  talent  for  law- 
making is  hereditary,  or  it  is  not.  If  it  is  not,  then 
we  could  have  no  liousc  full  of  hereditary  wisdom, 
whereas,  it  is  manifest  we  have.  If  it  is  hereditary, 
as  we  have  seen  it  is,  then  it  must  depend  upon  being 
inherited,  or  it  woukl  be  a  pure  figment,  and  no  great- 
grandson  would  be  capable  of  solving  knotty  points 
because  his  progenitor  was  a  Marquis;  which  would 
be  a  vciy  ludicrous  conclusion,  and  Jlat  treason 
against  the  s'atc. 


314  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

The  feasibility  of  an  Hereditary  House  of  Perform- 
ers {pccr-fori?iers  rather),  being  thus  established, 
the  next  thing  is  earnestly  to  recommend  its  adoption, 
and  the  next  to  enjoy  the  imagination  of  it.  We 
fancy  ourselves  going  to  the  Hereditary  Play-house, 
not,  as  now,  doubting  of  the  success  of  this  and  that 
player,  and  vexed  at  the  truth  that  is  in  us,  because 
we  may  have  to  record  his  failures, — but  sure  of  fine 
actors  and  actresses  in  all  the  parts,  delighting  in  the 
report  we  shall  have  to  make  of  them,  and  wonder- 
ing how  that  Jacobin  fellow  that  criticises  them  in  the 
Tri-color^  can  dare  to  contradict  the  whole  feeling 
and  intelligence  of  the  community,  which  is  a  rap- 
tui"e  of  hereditary  delight.  For  always  let  us  bear  in 
mind,  that  if  some  tens  among  us  inherit  the  power  to 
legislate,  and  may  be  made  to  inherit  the  power  to 
act  plays,  all  the  rest  of  the  world  inherit  a  natural 
respect  for  them,  and  would  be  as  much  charmed  to 
pay  money  at  the  pit  door  to  see  the  Right  Theatrical 
the  actor  of  Macbetk^  as  they  are  to  give  up  their 
pound  notes,  daughters,  and  tenements  to  the  Most 
Noble  the  Ejector  and  Legislator. 

The  following  may  be  taken  as  a  specimen  of  the 
criticism  in  which  it  would  be  the  "  pride  and  pleas- 
ure "  of  all  the  loyal  critics  to  indulge:  — 

Last  night  the  tragedy' of  Othello  \wdi%  performed 
at  the  Hereditary  House  of  Players.  The  part  of 
Othello  by  the  Right  Theatrical  Joseph  Garrick ; 
Desdemona,  by  the  Right  Fascinating  Mrs.  Betterton  ; 
Emilia,  by  the  Most  Forcible  Mrs.  Pritchard  ;  Cassio, 
by  the  Right  Clever  Mr.  Williams;  lago,  by  the 
Most  Acute  and  Insinuating  Mr.  Ebenezer  Cooke ; 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  315 

and  the  Duke  of  Venice,  by  his  truly  noble  Repre- 
sentative Mr.  Algernon  Booth.  We  have  only  to 
name  these  illustrious  feer-fonncrs^  to  show  how 
well  they  must  have  sustained  their  characters.  The 
speech  of  the  great  Joseph  Garrick  —  Had  it  pleased 
keav'n,  &c.,  was  all  that  could  be  expected  from  the 
known  pathos  of  the  performer's  house  ;  it  would  be 
needless  to  dwell  on  the  hereditary  tones  of  Mrs. 
Betterton  ;  the  title  of  Most  Forcible  shows  what  a 
hand  and  arm  Mrs.  Pritchard  must  derive  from  her 
ancestors  ;  Air.  WiUiams  in  Cassio,  had  all  the  druiik- 
ness  and  incapability  of  speech  for  which  his  pro- 
genitor was  conspicuous ;  and  the  Duke  was  most 
ducal.  It  is  well  known  to  the  critical  reader,  that  no 
part  in  the  list  of  hereditary  characters  is  better  sus- 
tained than  that  of  Duke :  it  has  the  singular  good 
fortune  of  being  at  once  the  most  easy  and  most 
noble  of  them  all  ;  and  the  Duke  before  us  could  not 
have  performed  his  part  better  if  he  had  been  the 
founder  of  his  title.  The  unhandsome  critic  who 
writes  in  the  Tri-color,  and  who  is  the  antagonist  of 
everything  established  and  all  moral  orders  to  the 
private  boxes,  would  in  vain  dispute  the  talent  and 
utility  of  this  noble  house,  and  its  power  to  represent 
adequately  its  original  worthies.  In  vain  he  says 
that  the  Right  Theatrical  Mr.  Joseph  Garrick  is 
l.iughable  instead  of  pathetic  ;  that  the  present  Mrs. 
Betterton  is  the  transmitter,  not  of  her  great-great- 
grandmother's  face,  but  of  the  several  foolish  ones 
that  have  intcrscncd  ;  that  the  Most  Forcible  Mrs. 
Pritchard  is  as  weak  a  woman  as  ever  got  in  a  pas- 
sion ;  and  that  Mr.    Algernon    Booth,   though    good 


3l6  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

enough  for  a  Duke,  is  fit  for  nothing  else,  and  has  not 
an  idea  in  his  head.  Such  opinions  as  these  can 
only  end  in  bringing  everything  great  and  established 
into  contempt,  and  rendering  the  poor  dissatisfied 
with  the  salaries  paid  to  these  delightful  servants  of 
the  public.  His  enmity  is  the  more  absurd,  when  we 
come  to  consider  that  it  does  not  signify,  after  all, 
whether  the  worthy  progenitors  of  this  noble  house 
were,  in  a  certain  sense  of  the  term,  worthy  or  not, 
since  it  is  the  king  that  makes  noble  actors ;  so  that 
if  the  whole  race  were  to  be  destroyed,  he  could 
make  as  many  again  to-morrow,  and  therefore  se- 
cure tlie  blessings  of  hereditary  genius  to  our  pos- 
terity. It  is  true  shallow  minds  might  argue  against 
the  necessity  of  demanding  any  talents  in  the  first 
possessor  of  a  theatrical  title  :  but  a  mixture  of  these, 
as  great  stage-men  well  know,  makes  the  system 
"  work  better :  "  and  whether  such  were  the  case  or 
not,  there  is  this  final  argument  to  put  down  all 
sneerers  and  innovators  forever ;  to  wit,  that  with- 
out an  Hereditary  House  of  Performers,  to  stand 
midway  between  the  royal  and  plebeian  ends  of  the 
town,  there  would  be  no  safety  for  East-end  or  West. 
The  city,  for  want  of  a  tragedy  to  keep  them  in  awe, 
would  immediately  go  in  an  uproar,  and  get  up  a 
tragic  comedy  at  St.  James's,  to  the  great  danger  of 
his  Majesty's  person  ;  or  the  executive  powers,  for 
the  want  of  a  tragedy  to  remind  it  of  the  right  of  the 
subject,  would  march  into  the  city,  and  help  itself  to 
all  those  pockets  of  the  middle  orders,  out  of  which 
the  Hereditary  House  is  at  present  maintained  for 
keeping  them  inviolate. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  317 

All  which,  if  it  is  not  the  case  in  other  countries, 
and  vile   untheatrical  republics,  ought  to  be;  and  so 
the  argument  holds  as  good  as  if  it  were. 
1S30. 


MADA^IE   PASTA. 


GOING  to  the  King's  Theatre  again  is  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing  from  renewing  one's  acquaintance 
with  the  otlier  theatres.  We  confess,  with  all  our 
love  of  Italian  and  of  singing,  we  do  not  like  it  so 
well.  The  quiet  seems  pleasanter  at  first;  treading 
upon  matting  is  a  sort  of  polite  and  gingerly  thing; 
and  it  is  interesting  to  look  around  for  those  beautiful 
faces  belonging  to  Lady  Charlottes  and  Carolines, 
dropping  their  lids  down  upon  us  as  if  they  wore 
coronets,  and  not  always  the  better  for  it.  But 
the  cue  of  polite  life  is  to  take  indilVercnce  for  self- 
possession  ;  and  you  are  not  seated  long  before  you 
begin  to  feel  that  there  is  an  air  of  neutralization  and 
falsehood  around  you.  The  quiet  is  a  dread  of  com- 
mitting themselves  ;  —  people  come  as  much  to  be 
seen  as  to  see  ;  —  the  performers  in  the  boxes  prepare 
for  disputing  attention  with  those  on  the  stage;  — 
men  lounge  about  tlie  alleys,  looking  so  very  easy  that 
they  are  evidently  full  of  constraint;  the  looks  of  the 
women  dispute  one  anotiicr's  pretensions  ;  —  if  you 
have  been  long  away,  you  arc  not  sure  that  somctliing 
is  not  amiss    in  your   appearance  ;  that  you  arc  not 


3lS  THE    WISHIXG-CAP    PAPEKS. 

guilty  of  some  overt  act  of  a  wrong  cape,  or  absurd 
reasonableness  of  neckcloth  ;  in  short,  )'ou  feel  that 
the  great  majority  of  the  persons  around  you  have 
come  to  the  Opera  because  it  is  the  Opera,  and  not 
from  any  real  love  of  music  and  the  graces.  The 
only  pei^sons  really  interested,  with  the  exception  of 
a  few  private  lovers  of  music  here  and  there,  are  the 
young  and  inexperienced  ;  musicians,  who  come  to 
criticise  the  music  ;  and  foreigners,  whom  it  is  pleas- 
ant to  hear  speaking  their  own  language.  After  all, 
these  last  are  the  only  persons  who  seem  at  home. 
The  musicians  ai'e  apt  to  be  thinking  too  much  of 
their  flats  and  sharps,  and  compasses  of  voice.  The 
young  people,  though  they  dare  not  own  it  to  them- 
selves, soon  get  heartily  tired  of  everything  but  look- 
ing at  the  company  ;  and  the  private  lover  of  music 
gets  as  tired  with  the  glare  and  commonplace  of  nine 
tenths  of  the  performance. 

Thanks  and  glory  to  Pasta,  who  relieved  us  from 
all  this  spectacle  of  indiflerence  and  pretension  the 
moment  we  heard  the  soul  in  her  voice,  and  beheld 
the  sincerity  in  her  face.  Pit  and  boxes  were  at  once 
forgotten,  quality,  affectation,  criticism,  everything 
but  delight  and  nature.  Like  a  lark,  she  took  us  up 
at  once  out  of  that  "  sullen  earth,"  and  made  us  feel 
ourselves  in  a  heaven  of  warmth  and  truth,  and 
thrilling  sensibility.  If  these  are  thought  enthusiastic 
phrases,  they  are  so.  What  others  could  we  use  to  do 
justice  to  the  enthusiasm  of  genius,  and  to  the  delight 
it  produces  in  those  golden  showers  out  of  its  sky? 

We  saw  Madame  Pasta,  for  the  first  time,  years 
ago,   in  the  character  of  the    page    in   Figaro^  and 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  319 

afterwards  in  that  of  the  female  (we  forget  her  name) 
in  the  Clerncnza  di  Tito,  who  sings  with  her  lover 
the  beautiful  duet,  Dch  prendi  un  dolce  amplesso. 
In  the  page,  if  we  recollect,  we  thought  her  heavy 
and  ungain.  In  the  other  part,  we  remember  that 
Begrez,  a  singer  not  given  to  too  much  passion,  stood 
while  he  w-as  singing  the  duet  with  her,  holding  her 
hand,  not  indiflerently  as  they  generally  do,  but  with 
tenderness  and  afl'ection,  cherishing  it  against  his 
bosom  ;  a  piece  of  nature  which  we  have  since  at- 
tributed to  her  suggestion.  If  we  are  wrong,  we  beg 
his  pardon.  At  all  events,  it  was  creditable  to  him, 
suggested  or  not. 

Since  we  have  seen  Madame  Pasta  again,  the  heavy 
kind  of  simplicity  which  we  recollect  in  her  Figaro 
must  either  have  been  tlio  consequence  of  her  having 
a  greater  tact  for  nature  and  truth,  than  she  at  that 
time  felt  experience  enough  to  put  forth,  or  her  per- 
formance of  the  part  may  have  been  better  suited  to 
the  character  liian  we  took  it  for.  The  page,  in  that 
very  breath-suspended  and  conscious  piece,  which  is 
always  hovering  on  the  borders  of  strange  things,  is 
in  reality  in  a  very  awkward  position,  and  extremely 
sensible  of  it ;  and  we  are  not  sure,  if  we  could  iiave 
seen  Madame  Pasta  in  it,  witli  as  much  knowledge 
of  her  then  as  we  persuade  ourselves  we  have  now, 
that  we  should  not  have  found  her  the  exact  person 
for  the  ciiaracter,  and  presenting  a  portrait,  lull  of 
truth,  in  its  very  ungainncss  and  want  of  teaching. 

Truth  is  the  great  charm  of  this  fine  vocal  actress. 
She  waits  upon  it,  without  claim  or  misgiving;  and 
like    a  noble   mistress,  truth  in  turn  waits  upon  her, 


320  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

and  loves  her  like  her  child.  We  never  saw  anybody 
before  on  the  stage  who  impressed  us  with  a  sense  of 
this  sort  of  moral  charm  in  its  perfection.  Even  Mrs. 
Siddons  had  always  a  queen-like  air  in  her  nature, 
which  seemed  to  be  conscious  of  the  homage  paid  it, 
and  to  crown  itself  with  its  glory.  Madame  Pasta, 
as  the  occasion  demands,  is  tranquil,  grave,  smiling, 
transported,  angry,  allbctionate,  voluptuous ;  intent 
at  one  minute  as  a  bust,  radiant  as  a  child  with  joy 
at  the  next ;  intellectual  as  a  Muse,  full  of  wily  and 
sliding  tones  as  a  Venus  ;  in  short,  the  occasion  itself, 
and  whatever  it  does  with  the  human  being.  Imagine 
a  female  brought  up  in  solitude,  with  a  natural  sin- 
cerity that  nothing  has  injured,  walking  quietly  about 
a  beautiful  spot,  reading  everything  that  comes  in 
her  way,  accomplished,  at  ease,  getting  even  a  little 
too  fat  with  the  perfection  of  her  comfort  and  her 
ignorance  of  an\  thing  ungraceful ;  and  imagine  this 
same  female  gifted  with  as  much  sensibility  as  truth, 
and  weeping,  laughing,  and  undergoing  every  emo- 
tion that  books  can  furnish  her  with,  as  she  turns 
over  the  leaves;  and  you  have  a  picture  of  this  noble 
performer,  and  the  extraordinary  effect  she  produces 
without  anything  like  theatrical  effort.  Not  that  she 
cannot  indulge  the  critics  now  and  then  with  the  idea 
of  a  stage  actress,  and  set  herself  to  make  her  bravura 
effective  ;  but  truth  is  at  the  bottom  even  of  that,  and 
she  is  sure  to  throw  in  some  tone  and  sweet  reference 
to  nature  ;  as  much  as  to  say  to  the  lovers  of  it,  "  Do 
not  imagine  I  have  forgotten  you."  She  is  like  a 
nature  full  of  trutii,  brought  out  of  solitude  into  the 
world;  —  and  too  much  habituated  to  sincerity,  too 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  331 

sweet  in  the  use  of  it,  and  too  conscious  of  the  power 
it  gives  her,  to  forego  so  rare,  so  charming,  and  so 
triumphant  a  distinction. 

We  do  not  pretend  to  malce  any  discovery  in  this 
matter.  The  accounts  we  heard  of  her  in  Medea 
showed  us  that  the  discovery  had  been  made  ah'cady  ; 
and  it  has  been  set  forth  by  a  critic,  worthy  of  that 
name,  in  an  article  comparing  this  ''  perfection  of  nat- 
ural acting  "  with  that  of  the  French.  With  a  reference 
to  this  article,  which  is  to  be  found  in  the  Plain  Speak- 
er, Vol.  II.,  and  which  we  regret  we  have  no  room 
to  quote,  for  nothing  need  be  said  of  the  opera  itself, 
we  must  conclude.  Tancrcdi  is  said  to  be  one  of 
the  most  popular  of  Rossini's  operas,  but  is  by  no 
means  one  of  his  best;  being  crammed,  in  fact,  as 
full  of  commonplaces  and  old  threadbare  recitative 
as  nine  tenths  of  it  can  hold.  It  is  theatrical  clothes- 
man's  music.  But  there  is  good  in  the  remainder ; 
and  the  fine  air,  Di  ta)iti  palpiii,  is  part  of  it.  If 
any  one  thinks  he  has  heard  this  air  a  hundred  times, 
till  he  has  got  tired  of  it,  let  him  never  mind,  but  go 
and  hear  it  from  Madame  Pasta  ;  he  will  then  find  he 
has  never  heard  it  before.  Wc  have  left  ourselves  as 
little  room  to  speak  of  the  other  performers,  some  of 
them  excellent  in  their  way,  especially  Madame  Cara- 
dori  ;  but  after  our  new,  true,  and  most  original  ac- 
fiuaintancc,  even  the  best  of  conventional  singers 
become  comparatively  uninteresting.  Caradori  is 
like  a  sweet  and  perfect  musical  instrument,  by  the 
side  of  her  ;  not  that  she  does  not  act  too  better  than 
most  singers ;  she  even  contrives,  in  her  manners,  to 
give  us    an   amiable  as   well   as  clever  idea  of  her; 

21 


322  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

but  Pasta,  coming  upon  all  this,  even  in  her  most  tran- 
quil moments,  seems  like  the  veiy  noontide  of  human- 
ity risen  upon  a  cold  morning  of  it.  There  is  more 
ellective  grace  in  the  least  of  her  movements,  though 
she  is  too  fat,  and  sometimes  looks  heavily  so,  than 
in  all  the  received  elegancies  of  the  stage  ;  — so  beau- 
tiful as  well  as  great  is  truth.  By  the  way,  we  had 
forgotten  to  say  that  her  voice  is  not  perfect.  Who 
asks  whether  any  voice  is  so,  when  sensibility  and 
sincerity  speak  together,  and  the  sound  is  hugged  into 
one's  heart ! 


II. 


We  wish  to  add  something  to  our  last  article  re- 
specting  the  truth  and  beauty  of  this  singer's  perform- 
ance. It  has  been  suggested  to  us,  that  Madame 
Pasta  is  not  so  much  absorbed  as  people  may  think 
her  in  the  business  of  the  scene  ;  that  she  finds  time, 
like  other  singers  at  the  opera,  for  those  little  inter- 
changes of  by-jokes  and  grown-children's  play,  by 
which  th-ey  occasionally  refresh  themselves  from  a 
sense  of  their  duties ;  and  that,  in  a  concert-room  or 
an  oratorio,  where  no  illusion  is  going  forward,  we 
should  fiud  more  defects  in  her  as  a  singer  than  we 
are  aware  of.  Finally,  another  friend  tells  us,  that 
we  make  a  good  deal  of  what  we  see  ;  and  in  our 
gratitude  for  a  favorite  quality,  find  more  of  it  to  be 
grateful  for  than  exists  anywhere  but  in  our  own 
imaginations. 

We  doubt  whether  we  are  not  committing  the  dig- 
nity of  the  critical  character  in  thus  admitting  that 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  3^3 

our  opinion  can  be  disputed  privately.  A  corre- 
spondcut  is  another  matter.  lie  approaches  his  critic 
with  a  curtain  between,  and  the  latter  retreats  farther 
into  tlie  mystery  and  multiplicity  of  his  plural  "  we," 
leaving  his  questioner  uncertain  how  many  secrect 
faculties  and  combined  resources  of  experience  he 
may  not  have  ventured  to  diller  with.  But  to  ac- 
knowledge that  we  are  mortal  and  individual  men, 
"  singular  good  "  fellows,  who  can  be  disputed  with 
over  one's  wine  and  tea,  face  to  face,  and  be  forced  to 
say  "  I ;  "  and  give  a  reason,  with  more  privilege  to  be 
wrong  than  any  other  man's  reason  ;  all  this  would  be 
very  frightful  to  us,  if  instead  of  being  critics  or  judges, 
sitting  aloof  above  sympathy,  and  periwigged  with 
imposture,  we  did  not  profess  to  be  what  we  really 
are,  nothing  but  Companions:  men  who  get  from 
sympathy  all  tlicy  know,  and  do  not  care  twopence 
for  anything  but  truth  and  good-fellowship. 

We  say,  then,  to  these  our  objectors,  public  or 
private  (for  after  all  there  is  no  ditVercnce  between 
them,  except  as  to  the  dry  matter  of  fact ;  we  take  a 
real  bottle  with  one,  and  an  imaginary  one  with  the 
other)  —  wc  say,  filling  our  glass,  and  looking  them 
in  the  face,  with  all  that  bland  beatitude  of  certainty, 
so  convincing  in  any  man,  especially  if  he  docs  not 
proceed  to  argue  the  point  (as  we  have  an  unfortu- 
nate propensity  to  do)  —  My  dear  So-and-so,  you  are 
most  horribly  in  the  wrong.  I  wonder  at  a  man  of 
your  intelligence.  You  sur[)rise  mc.  Do  3 on  think 
so,  indeed?  Well,  you  astonish  me.  I'm  sure,  if 
you  would  but  reflect  a  little.  Well,  I  never.  You 
are  the   last    man   I    should    have    thought   capable 


324  THE   WISHING-CAP   PAPERS.      ' 

of  using  that  argument.     Nothing  will  ever  persuade 
me^  &c. 

These  answers  ought  to  be  convhicing.  But  as 
some  unreasonable  persons  may  remain,  wlio  are  not 
so  easily  convinced,  and  as  we  have  a  conscience  that 
induces  us  not  to  leave  them  out,  we  shall  proceed  to 
observe,  that  all  which  is  urged  against  us  on  the  point 
in  question  may  be  very  true,  and  Pasta  yet  remain 
just  what  we  have  described  her.  In  the  first  place, 
it  is  not  necessary  to  suppose  her  absorbed  in  the 
business  of  the  scene  in  order  to  do  it  justice.  It 
would  be  impossible  she  could  do  so,  if  she  were. 
"  If  a  man,"  said  Johnson,  "  really  thought  himself 
Richard  the  Third,  he  would  deserve  to  be  hung." 
All  we  contend  for  is,  that  Madame  Pasta  has  the 
power,  to  a  surprising  extent,  of  pitching  herself  into 
the  character  of  the  person  she  represents.  The  great- 
er this  power,  the  more  suddenly  she  can  exercise  it. 
She  touches  the  amulet  of  her  imagination  in  an  in- 
stant, and  is  the  person  she  wishes  to  appear.  It  is  a 
voluntary  power  of  the  extremcst  degree,  in  one  sense  : 
and  yet,  in  another,  it  is  the  most  involuntary  ;  that  is 
to  say,  she  can  abstract  herself  at  a  moment's  notice 
from  circumstances  not  belonging  to  the  scene,  and 
yet  in  the  next  she  is  under  the  influence  of  the  char- 
acter imagined,  as  much  as  if  she  were  a  child.  We 
will  venture  to  illustrate  this  by  a  reference  to  author- 
ship and  to  ourselves.  We  shall  be  talking,  for  in- 
stance, in  the  midst  of  half  a  dozen  friends :  they 
shall  all  be  talking  with  us  :  and  we  shall  be  thinking 
no  more  of  authorship  than  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas. 
On   a  sudden  it  becomes  necessary  that  we  should 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  325 

look  at  our  paper,  and  give  a  turn  to  some  story  or 
other  piece  of  writing,  serious  or  merry.  In  a  mo- 
ment we  are  as  abstracted  as  if  we  were  a  hundred 
miles  oft'.  We  hear  the  conversation  no  more  than 
people  hear  the  rumbling  of  the  coaches  when  they 
are  not  thinking  about  them  ;  and,  with  the  laugh 
hardly  oft' our  lips,  become  as  grave  as  the  heroine  of 
our  story  ;  or,  with  the  tears  almost  in  our  eyes,  sit 
down  to  give  the  finish  to  a  joke,  and  tickle  ourselves 
into  laughter  with  the  point  of  it.  Now  why  should 
we  not  believe,  that  what  we  ourselves  can  do,  others 
cannot  do  twenty  times  as  well? 

That  Madame  Pasta  should  not  feel  everything  just 
as  strongly  as  she  imagines  it,  and  that  she  should 
give  evidences  to  near  observers  that  she  can  occa- 
sionally amuse  herself,  as  other  favorite  performers 
do.  with  certain  quips  and  cranks  among  one  another, 
takes  away  nothing  of  the  imaginative  truth  of  what 
she  has  to  do,  and  onl}'  adds  to  the  evidences  of  the 
voluntary  power.  We  certainly  doubt  whether  she 
could  do  this  so  well  in  some  characters  as  in  others. 
Wc  should  guess  that  she  was  least  able  to  do  it 
much,  and  most  inclined  to  do  it  at  all,  when  per- 
forming characters  that  tried  her  feelings  the  most 
severely.  There  arc  stories  of  Garrick's  turning  round 
with  a  comic  grin  in  the  thick  of  the  distresses  of 
King  Lear  ;  and  similar  stories  have  been  related  of 
Mr.  Kean.  Hclicve  them  if  you  will;  but  do  n<>t 
believe  that  those  great  performers  felt  less  the  truth 
of  what  they  were  aVmut.  Perhaps  what  liiey  did  was 
necessary,  as  a  relief  to  tiieir  feelings  ;  just  as  sensitive 
men  will  shock  company  sometimes  by  cracking  jokes 


326  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

upon  some  topic  of  distress.  It  is  not  because  they 
do  not  feel  it,  but  because  they  do,  and  l^ecause  some 
variety  of  sensation  is  necessary  to  enable  them  to 
endure  their  feelings.  If  an  actor  were  to  feel,  un- 
mixed, all  he  seems  to  feel  in  such  characters  as  Lear, 
he  would  go  nigh  to  lose  his  senses  in  good  earnest. 
Tragic  actresses,  the  most  eminent,  have  been  known 
to  faint  and  go  into  fits  ujDon  the  jjerformance  of  a 
trying  character.  Perhaps  they  would  not  have  done 
so  had  their  personal  character  contained  variety  and 
resource  enough  in  it  to  call  in  the  aid  of  this  occa- 
sional volatility.  Even  Garrick  is  known  to  have 
looked  prematurely  old.  Yet  Garrick  had  everything 
'to  support  him  — fortune,  prudence,  and  a  good  con- 
stitution. When  we  hear  actors,  equally  great  in 
their  way,  but  less  happy  in  bodily  frame,  rebuked 
severely  for  certain  excesses  alleged  against  them,  we 
sometimes  think  it  a  pity  that  the  rebukers  do  not 
know  what  it  is  to  go  through  all  that  wear  and  tear 
of  sensation,  and  to  be  at  a  loss  how  to  keep  up  a 
proper  level  of  excitement  in  their  general  feelings. 
We  are  not  sure  that  Madame  Pasta  does  not  uncon- 
sciously let  herself  grow  falter  than  might  be  wished, 
out  of  an  uneasy  feeling  of  something  to  be  suj)porte  J 
and  strengthened  in  this  way  ;  especially  when  it  is 
considered  that  persons  of  her  profession  lead  arti- 
ficial lives,  and  cannot  so  well  be  kept  healthy  as  oth- 
ers, by  good  hours  and  a  life  otherwise  uninterfered 
with. 

As  to  a  concert-room  or  an  oratorio,  it  is  a  dull 
business  compared  with  singing  amidst  the  feelings 
of  a  scene.     Such  places  are  fittest  for  instrumental 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  327 

performances,  and  for  instrument-like  singers.  In 
the  concert-room  the  audience  expect  little  passion, 
and  find  it.  They  arc  themselves  in  a  dull  and  for- 
mal state  ;  there  is  often  a  majority  of  musicians  pres- 
ent, and  a  majority  of  musicians  cannot  be  of  the  first 
order,  tvDr  do  they  desire  anything  of  the  first  order  in 
others.  They  wish  the  singers  to  act  up  simply  to 
their  own  notions  of  excellence,  which  are  but  a  re- 
flection of  themselves.  All  is  quiet,  mechanical,  medi- 
ocre. Up  gets  a  lady  or  gentleman,  book  in  hand, 
and  out  of  this  is  to  disl^urse  us  the  proper  quantity 
of  notes,  checked  by  that  emblem  of  reference  to  the 
dead  letter.  She  does  so  ;  is  duly  delivered  of  a  B, 
or  a  D,  and  everything  is  "  as  well  as  can  be  ex- 
pected." 

So  in  an  oratorio.  -The  audience  are  all  assembled, 
as  orravc  as  need  be  :  the  season,  and  the  usual  dull 
character  of  oratorios,  helps  to  formalize  them  ;  there 
is  a  "'ood  deal  of  mourning  in  the  house,  and  sacred 
music  is  to  be  performed,  mixed  with  a  little  illegal 
profane.  That  is  to  say,  there  is  nothing  real  in  the 
Ijusiness,  anil  nobody  can  be  either  properly  merry  or 
mournful.  Which  is  just  the  case.  In  comes  a  gen- 
tleman, dressed  in  black,  hitcliing  his  way  along  side- 
ways, and  leading  a  lady  up  tlie  alley  behind  tiie 
orclicstra ;  another  follows,  and  another,  equally 
polite  and  preparatory:  it  is  Madame  So-and-so,  in  a 
hat  and  fcath-r.s;  it  is  Miss  W.  or  Mrs.  Z.,  all  dicsscd 
like  other  gentlewomen,  which  is  odd  ;  and  like  other 
gentlewomen  they  take  their  seats,  and  look  as  if  they 
ought  to  drink  tea.  Music  books  make  tlieir  appear- 
ance, as  in  the  concert-room,  and  up  rises  the  lady  or 


328  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

gentleman  to  sing  in  the  same  formal  manner,  and  be 
discreet  in  their  flats.  The  sacred  music  drags,  the 
profane  music  hops,  and  the  audience  wish  them- 
selves in  their  beds. 

Madame  Pasta  may  probably  not  excel  at  such  ex- 
hibitions as  these.  We  do  not  desire  that  she  should. 
It  would  not  be  easy  to  persuade  us  that,  sing  where 
she  may,  her  singing  would  not  be  better  than  the 
most  formal  perfection  ;  but  the  worst  thing  we  can 
say  of  an  oratorio  is,  that  not  even  sl:ie  can  take  us 
there.  Put  her  on  the  stage,  or  in  a  company  among 
friends,  let  loose  her  feelings,  and  then  we  have  the 
soul  of  music  ;  and  this  is  the  only  real  music  in  the 
world. 

That  we  make  what  we  find  on  such  occasions, 
and  listen  with  our  imaginations  upon  us,  is  only 
saying,  in  other  words,  that  the  occasion  is  fit  to 
excite  the  enthusiasm  ;  otherwise  how  does  it  happen 
that  it  is  not  equally  excited  on  others.''  Doubtless 
there  must  be  enthusiasm  and  imagination  to  do  fit 
justice  to  the  same  qualities  in  the  performer.  Love- 
liness must  have  love.  But  how  is  it  that  love  is 
excited  by  some  things  and  not  by  others?  How  is 
it  tliat  multitudes  are  wound  up  to  enthusiasm  by  one 
orator  and  not  by  another,  and  that  Madame  Pasta 
produces  the  same  sensation  from  Naples  to  Berlin? 
She  is  not  an  unknown  singer,  trumped  up  by  a  sol- 
itary enthusiast.  Cities  are  her  admirers  ;  and  she 
would  take  hearts  by  storm  everywhere,  whether 
critics  explained  or  not  by  what  magic  she  did  it. 

It  is  nevertheless  very  pleasant  to  us  to  know  what 
the  magic  is.     We  never  feel  the  value  of  criticism, 


ESSAYS   AND    SKETCHES.  329 

except  wheivit  enables  us  to  double  our  delight  in  this 
manner  ;  for  none  can  hold  in  greater  contempt  than 
we  do  the  common  cant  of  criticism,  or  less  pride 
themselves  in  finding  out  those  common  defects  to 
which  critics  in  general  have  a  natural  attraction.  It 
is  truth  that  gives  Madame  Pasta  her  advantage  ;  the 
same  truth,  yes,  the  very  same  spirit  of  sincerity  and 
straightforwardness  which  is  charming  in  conversa- 
tion and  in  matters  of  confidence ;  which  enables 
one  face  to  look  at  another,  unalloyed  with  a  con- 
tradiction, and  makes  the  heart  sometimes  gush  in- 
wardly with  tenderness  at  the  countenance  that  little 
suspects  it.  The  reason  is,  that  some  of  the  most 
painful  infirmities  with  which  the  state  of  society 
besets  us  are  tlien  taken  away,  and  we  not  only  think 
we  have  reason  to  be  delighted,  but  arc  sure  of  it. 
For  this  we  know  no  bounds  to  our  gratitude  ;  and 
it  is  just ;  for  you  could  not  more  transport  a  man 
shaken  ail  over  with  palsy  by  suddenly  gifting  him 
with  firmness,  than  }  on  do  any  human  being,  in  the 
present  state  of  things,  by  making  hiin  secure  upon 
any  one  point  which  he  ardently  desires  to  believe  in. 
There  is,  tiierefore,  a  moral  charm,  of  the  most  liberal 
kind,  in  Madame  Pasta's  performances,  which  argues 
well  for  her  personal  character ;  and  personal  char- 
acter, wi-sh  as  we  may,  always  mingles,  more  or  less, 
with  the  impression  created  by  others  upon  us.  It  is, 
indeed,  a  part  of  them,  which  helps  to  make  them 
what  they  are,  ofl'  a  stage  or  on  it,  pretending  or  not 
pretending.  It  is  true  there  is  a  difiercnce  between 
moral  truth  and  iniaginative  ;  and  it  does  not  follow 
that,  because  Madame  Pasta  tells  the  truth  jn  every- 


330  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

thing  she  does  on  the  stage,  she  should  be  an  example 
of  the  virtue  elsewhere.  It  is  an  argument,  however, 
that  she  would  be  so  ;  just  as  the  taste  for  an  accom- 
plishment implies  that  a  person  is  more  likely  to 
excel  in  it  than  if  there  were  no  such  taste.  Madame 
Pasta  has  to  look  sorrowful,  and  no  sorrow  can  be 
completer: — she  has  to  look  joyful,  and  her  face  is 
all  jo}',  —  as  true  and  total  a  beaming  as  that  of  a  girl 
without  a  spectator,  who  sees  her  lover  hailing  her 
from  a  distance.  We  have  seen  such  looks,  and  they 
have  stood  us  instead  of  any  other  certainty.  Mad- 
ame Pasta  knows  the  truth  well,  and  knows  how  to 
honor  it ;  and  this  is  an  evidence  that  the  inclination 
of  her  nature  is  true,  whatever  the  world  may  have 
done  to  spoil  it.  We  are  aware,  mind,  of  no  such 
spoliation.  Our  impulse,  if  we  knew  this  charming 
performer  (which  is  a  pleasure  incompatible  with 
the  confounded  critical  office  we  have  taken  upon  us), 
would  be  to  give  as  implicit  belief  to  everything  she 
said  off  the  stage  as  on  it.  But  we  wish  to  guard 
against  a  wrong  argument,  and  to  show  the  triumph 
and  the  beautiful  tendencies  of  truth,  whether  borne 
out  in  all  their  quarters  or  not. 
1S28. 


ESSAYS    AXD    SKETCHES.  33 1 


OPERA  OF  THE  WHITE  AND  RED   ROSE. 
—  MADAME   PASTA  IN  TPIE   LOVER. 

MAYER'S  opera  of  the  White  and  Red  Rose 
(Za  Rosa  Bianca  e  la  Rosa  Rossa)  was 
brought  out  at  the  King's  Theatre  on  Saturday  even- 
ing,  Madame  Pasta  being  the  hero  of  it.  We  remem- 
ber noticing  a  phiybill  of  this  piece  once  at  Genoa, 
and  making  up  our  minds  not  to  go  and  see  it,  be- 
cause it  was  historical.  Seng  is  for  passion  in  its 
own  shape,  and  not  mixed  up  with  the  squabbles  and 
pretences  of  history.  Great  writers,  as  a  musical 
friend  observed  to  us,  have  rarely  laid  their  scenes 
in  the  midst  of  these  impertinences,  which  augur  ill 
for  the  composer.  It  is  true,  there  is  apt  to  be  very 
little  history  after  all  in  such  pieces;  but  what  there 
is  docs  them  injury.  We  do  not  want  a  singing  Earl 
of  Derby,  singing  foot-guards,  and  a  warbling  sheriff. 
These  matters  of  the  Court  Calendar  jar  against  one's 
enthusiasm,  and  the  case  is  worse  because  it  comes 
home  to  us  in  our  own  country.  Fancy  a  love  adven- 
ture mixed  up  two  centuries  hence  with  the  diUl-r- 
enccs  between  our  Military  Premier  and  Mr.  II us- 
kisson  ;  the  king  going  in  and  out,  singing  Oh  Dio; 
Lord  Godcrich  teiuler  in  a  cavalina,  tlic  ladies  all 
mystified,  and  a  chorus  of  journalists  at  midnight 
{Numi  and  lunii)  calling  upon  the  powers  above  to 
throw  a  little  light  on  the  business. 


332  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

Slgnor  HziskL     Dice    di    si,  come  io,   il 

Vcllingtonne. 
{Entra  il  Duca.)     Di  si?     Di  no. 
Co}-o  di  Giornalisti.     Or  cosa  dice  Huskisonne? 

^Mr.  H.     The    Noble     Duke   says 
Yes  ;  so  all  is  done. 
{Enter  Duke.)     Says  Yes .?     Says  No. 
Chorus  of  Journalists.     Now  what  says  Huskis- 

son  ?] 

Reader.     But,  sir,  this  is  a  caricature. 

Critic.  It  is  so,  like  the  subject ;  but  the  spirit  of 
our  objection  is  good,  and  opera  goers  feel  it  to 
be  so. 

Signor  Mayer's  opera  is  not  of  the  highest  order, 
nor  is  it  by  any  means  of  the  lowest.  We  do  not 
know  whether  this  is  the  same  composer  who  has 
written  several  pleasing  airs,  —  one  of  them  with  a 
very  striking  and  characteristic  exordium  ;  we  mean 
Chi  dice  mal  d'  amore.  The  emphatic  drop  on  the 
last  syllable  of  the  word  falsita  in  that  air,  is  a  touch 
of  real  genius.  Madame  Pasta  would  give  it  with  a 
corresponding  beauty  of  gesture,  impressing  her  firm 
and  indignant  hand  upon  it  with  all  the  grace  of  a 
noble  scorn.  There  are  two  Mayers,  we  believe,  both 
writers  of  pleasing  melodies ;  though,  perhaps,  we 
are  naming  together  two  unequal  men.  One  of  them 
is  the  author  of  a  gracefid  ballad,  beginning  Donne 
V  amore  escaltro  poragletto.  At  all  events,  the  name 
led  us  to  expect  more  melody  than  we  found  in  the 
new  opera ;  or,  perhaps,  we  should  say,  more  origi- 
nal   airs :   for  there    is    a   vein    of  rambling    melody 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  333 

throughout  the  piece,  and,  if  not  much  invention, 
a  great  deal  of  taste  and  feeling.  The  music  is  so 
good  that  we  expect  it  every  minute  to  be  better. 
There  is  now  and  then  a  very  delicate  commentary 
of  accompaniment,  throwing  out  little  unexpected 
passages  both  learned  and  to  the  purpose.  The  best 
of  the  regular  compositions  are  the  duets.  There  are 
two  between  Madame  Pasta  and  Curioni  (//^  tal  nio- 
mento  in  the  first  act,  and  JE  deserto  il  bosco  in  the 
second)  for  which  alone  the  opera  is  worth  going  to 
hear.  Curioni,  who  has  a  manner  of  feebleness  and 
indifference  in  general,  seems  inspired  when  he  comes 
to  sing  with  Pasta.  Her  part  is  one  of  the  least 
effective  ones  she  has  had  ;  but  everything  becomes 
elevated  bv  that  fine  face  of  hers,  and  that  voice  breath- 
ing  the  soul  of  sincerity.  The  words  core  and  amore 
are  never  commonplaces  in  her  mouth.  They  resume 
all  their  faith  and  passion.  They  are  no  more  like 
the  same  words  in  ordinary,  than  gallantry  is  like 
love,  or  tiian  scipio^  any  walking-slick,  was  Scipio 
who  supported  his  father.  Pasta  has  a  large  heart  in 
her  bosom,  or  she  could  not  have  a  voice  so  full  of  il. 
This  it  is  that  gives  her  the  ascendency  in  tiie  scene  : 
that  lifts  her,  '^  dolpliin-Hke,  above  the  clement  she 
lives  in,"  and  sports,  and  rules,  and  is  a  thing  of  life, 
in  those  dcc|)  waters  of  her  song.  Not  that  other 
singers  have  no  hearts,  and  may  not  be  excellent  peo- 
ple, but  that  tlicy  have  not  the  same  faith  in  the  very 
sounds  and  symbols  of  cordiality,  and  cannot  be  at  a 
mf)ment's  notice  in  the  world  wliich  they  speak  oi'. 
The  common  Wfjrld  hampers  and  pulls  tluin  back. 
It  was  well  noticed   by  a   ladv  in   flu-   pit,  that  she    is 


334  "^^^^    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

not  hindered  of  her  purpose  by  a  break  now  and  then 
in  her  voice,  the  bubble  of  a  note  or  so.  She  sUdcs 
over  it  as  if  it  were  a  molehill  under  her  chariot 
wheels,  and  abates  nothing  of  her  triumphant  prog- 
ress ;  nay,  adds  a  grace  and  a  dignity  on  the  strength 
of  it,  as  if  it  were  a  new  proof  how  indifierent  to  the 
spirit  of  the  passage  was  the  ground  the  most  mate 
rial  to  those  who  can  look  no  higher.  Besides,  there 
is  a  suffering  and  j^ermission  in  it  that  belongs  em- 
phatically to  passion.  If  it  were  for  want  of  skill  or 
deliberation,  it  would  be  another  thing.  But  in  the 
rich  haste  of  emotion,  pearls  ai'e  dropped  as  of  no  con- 
sequence. The  profusion  of  real  wealth  allows  us  to 
notice  them  only  as  things  that  would  make  others 
poor. 

Being  closer  to  Madame  Pasta  than  usual  this 
night,  we  had  a  completer  opportunity  of  noticing  the 
extraordinary  gi^ace  of  her  movements.  She  is  never 
at  a  loss.,  because  she  never  thinks  of  being  so.  She 
leaves  the  whole  matter  to  truth  and  nature,  and  these 
settle  it  for  her,  as  completely  as  they  do  for  an  infant. 
You  might  make  a  picture  from  any  one  of  her  pos- 
tures. A  favorite  action  of  hers,  and  one  extremely 
touching,  is,  after  venting  a  passion  of  more  than  usual 
force,  to  put  up  her  hands  before  her  eyes,  laying  and 
shutting  up,  as  it  were,  her  looks  in  them,  as  if  to  hide 
from  herself  the  sight  of  her  own  emotion.  When  she 
opens  her  arms  in  a  transport  of  affection,  leaning  at 
the  same  time  a  little  back,  and  breathing  and  looking 
as  true  as  truth  could  wish,  her  heart  seems  to  come 
forward  for  one  as  real,  and  her  arms  to  wait  the 
sanction  of  its  acknowledgment.     For  all  arms,  be  it 


ESSAYS    AXD    SKETCHES.  335 

observed,  are  not  arms,  whatever  they  pretend  ;  any 
more  than  all  that  pretends  to  be  love  is  love,  or  all 
eves  have  an  insi^^ht.  Some  arms  are  a  sort  of  fore 
legs  in  air.  merely  to  help  people's  walking.  Others 
have  machines  at  the  end  of  them,  to  take  up  victuals 
and  drink  with,  or  occasionally  to  scratch  out  one's 
eves.  Others,  more  amiable,  are  to  hang  armlets  and 
bracelets  on,  or  to  be  admired  for  a  skin  or  a  shape  ; 
and  then  ladies  put  them  in  kid  gloves,  on  purpose  to 
take  them  off,  and  lift  them  indilVerently  to  their  cheek 
with  rings  on  their  fingers,  and  people  say,  What  an 
arm  Mrs.  Timson  has !  But  the  real  arms  arc  to 
serve  and  love  with,  to  clasp  with  ;  to  be  honest  and 
true  arms,  content  to  be  admired  for  their  own  sakes 
if  the  possessor  be  worthy,  but  happy  to  enable  you 
to  lose  sijrht  of  them  for  the  sake  of  the  heart  and  the 
honest  countenance.  It  is  out  of  an  instinct  to  this 
purpose  (for  the  least  of  our  gestures  have  their  rea- 
son, if  wc  did  but  scan  it)  that  Madame  Pasta  throws 
back  her  arms,  as  if  things  only  in  waiting,  and  brings 
forward  her  heart,  as  if  the  approbation  of  that  alone 
would  sanction  their  use.  It  is  for  a  similar  reason, 
that  wc  admire  those  women  who  can  afford  to  make 
no  display  of  the  beauty  of  any  particular  limb,  but 
reserve  it  for  the  objects  of  their  love  and  respect  to 
find  out.  It  shows  they  arc  richer  than  in  mere  limbs. 
And,  for  the  same  reason,  one  hates  all  that  French 
dancing,  with  fine  showy  limbs  and  senseless  faces, 
which  follows  the  musical  performances  at  this  house, 
and  is  just  the  antipodes  of  all  that  charms  us  in  Pas- 
ta's  singing.  If  her  limbs  were  among  the  poorest 
in  the  world,  they  would  become  precious  as  warmth 


336  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

and  light,  with  that  smile  and  those  eyes  ;  whereas, 
if  a  French  dancer  could,  by  any  possibility,  have 
limbs  like  a  Venus,  with  a  face  no  fitter  to  look  at 
for  ten  minutes,  or  for  one,  than  nineteen  out  of 
twenty  of  them  possess,  she  might  as  well,  to  our 
taste,  be  as  wooden  and  pointed  all  over  as  a  Dutch 
doll  ;  which,  indeed,  in  her  inanimate  posture-mak- 
ings and  senseless  right  angles  of  toe,  she  very  much 
resembles.  These  people  are  made  up  out  of  the  toy- 
shop. They  are  dolls  in  their  quieter  moments,  and 
tee-totums  in  their  livelier.  A  mathematician  should 
marry  one  of  them  for  a  pair  of  compasses. 

We  must  not  forget  to  mention  that  Madame  Cara- 
dori,  whose  illness  had  been  previously  stated  to  the 
public,  went  through  her  part  in  the  opera  in  spite  of 
it,  though  evidently  in  a  state  of  suftering.  She  could, 
of  course,  be  expected  to  do  little ;  but  what  she  did 
was  good,  and,  at  least,  wanted  nothing  of  its  touch- 
ingness.  There  is,  at  all  times,  something  amiable  in 
the  manner  and  appearance  of  this  singer.  Her  more 
than  usual  delicacy  the  other  night,  together  with  her 
white  dress,  which  had  a  long  bodice  with  a  cross 
over  it,  and  her  hanging,  uniform-looking  sleeves, 
gave  her  the  appearance  of  a  Madonna  in  one  of 
Raphael's  pictures. 

We  must  relate  an  anecdote  of  Madame  Pasta, 
highly  corroborative  of  what  has  been  said  of  her. 
Some  gentlemen,  who  knew  her  well,  informed  a 
friend  of  ours  when  he  was  in  Paris,  that  she  would 
come  home  from  the  opera,  and  sit  in  a  passion  of 
tears  at  the  recollection  of  what  she  had  been  acting. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  337 

They  told  him  that  nothing  could  be  more  unaffected, 
and  that  she  would  say  she  knew  it  to  be  idle,  but  that 
she  ''could  not  get  the  thing  out  of  her  head."  This 
is  just  what  imaginative  people  would  expect  her  to 
say.  She  never  pretended  that  she  had  taken  herself 
for  the  character  she  represented,  but  she  had  sympa- 
thized with  it  so  strongly  that  it  became  the  next 
thinsr  to  realitv :  and  if  our  hearts  can  be  touched 
and  our  color  changed  by  the  mere  perusal  of  a  trage- 
dv,  how  much  more  may  not  a  woman's  nature  be 
moved  that  has  been  almost  identified  with  the  ca- 
lamities in  it;  that,  by  force  of  imagination,  has 
broujiht  the  soul  of  another  to  iiihabit  her  own  warm 
being;  and  has  entertained  it  there  as  the  very  guest 
of  humanity,  giving  it  her  own  heart  to  agitate,  and 
taking  upon  herself  the  burden  of  its  infirmities  ! 
1S2S. 


ON  FRENCH  OPERA  DANCING. 

D.-XNCING  is  cither  the  representation  of  love- 
making,  or  it  is  that  of  pure  animal  spirits, 
giving  way  to  their  propensity  to  motion.  It  is  the 
latter,  most  probably,  that  strikes  out  the  first  idea  of 
it,  as  an  art ;  the  former,  that  completes  and  gives  it 
a  sentiment.  The  rudest  savages  dance  round  a  vis- 
itor. Politer  ones  treat  him  with  a  dance  of  the 
sexes. 

But  French  opera  dancing  is  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other.     It  pretends  both,  only  to  show  how  little  it 

32 


33S  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

has  to  do  with  either.  There  is  love  in  the  plot ;  there 
is  mirth  in  the  stage  directions  :  but  you  find  it  no- 
where else.  Think  of  a  man  making  love,  with  no 
love  in  his  countenance  !  of  a  girl,  as  merry  as  a 
grig,  but  destitute  of  the  least  expression  of  it,  except 
in  her  toe  !  A  French  ballet  is  like  a  rehearsal,  with 
the  emotion  left  out.  There  is  scenery  ;  there  are 
dresses  and  decorations  ;  some  story  is  supposed  to 
be  going  on  ;  but  the  actors  are  really  apart  from  all 
this ;  wrapped  up  in  themselves,  and  anxious  for 
nothing  but  to  astonish  with  their  respective  legs,  and 
fetch  down  applause  from  the  galleries  with  a  jump. 

Enter,  for  instance,  two  lovers,  with  a  multitude  of 
subordinate  lovers  to  dance  for  tiiem  while  they  rest. 
The  scene  is  in  Turkey,  in  Italy,  in  Cyprus;  but  it 
might  as  well  be  in  the  dancing-master's  school-room, 
for  anything  it  has  to  do  with  the  performers.  For- 
ward comes  the  gentleman,  walking  very  badly,  like 
all  dancers  by  profession.  He  bridles,  he  balances 
himself,  he  looks  as  wooden  in  the  face  as  a  barber's 
block,  he  begins  capering.  That  there  is  no  meaning 
in  his  capers  but  to  astonish,  is  evident;  for,  in  his 
greatest  eHorts,  he  always  pays  the  least  attention  to 
his  love.  If  it  is  love-making,  it  is  the  oddest  in  the 
world,  for  the  lady  is  forgotten,  the  gentleman  capers 
by  himself,  and  he  expresses  his  passion  by  seeing 
how  many  jumps  he  can  take,  how  often  he  can 
quiver  his  feet  before  he  comes  down,  how  eminently 
he  can  stand  on  one  leg,  and,  finally,  how  long  he 
can  spin  round  like  a  tce-totum,  as  if  he  had  no  brain 
to  be  made  giddy  with.  Suddenly  he  stops,  like  a 
piece  of  lead  ;  and  having  received  his  applause  for 


ESSAYS    AXD    SKETCHES.  339 

being  a  machine,  stalks  ofF  as  proud  as  a  peacock, 
curving  out  his  arms,  holding  his  head  up,  and  turn- 
ing his  toes  east  and  west,  as  if  it  were  a  grace  to  be 
splay-footed.  All  this  is  certainly  not  "  the  poetry  of 
motion." 

It  is  now  the  lady's  turn.  She  presents  herself 
equally  alone  and  enamoured  ;  she  looks  grave  and 
anxious,  not  at  her  lover,  but  the  pit ;  no  other  emo- 
tion is  in  her  face,  but  then  her  toes  are  very  lively, 
and  she  begins  by  standing  upon  tiicm.  She  seems 
to  say,  '"  You  see  what  it  is  to  love  and  be  merry  ;  it 
is  to  look  like  a  school-girl  before  her  master,  and  to 
have  insteps  as  pliable  as  India-rul)ber."  She  then 
moves  onward  a  little,  and  careers  hither  and  ihitiier, 
prettily  enough  as  long  as  it  resembles  any  real  dan- 
cing ;  but  this  is  not  her  ambition.  On  a  sudden  she 
stops  like  the  gentleman,  balances  herself,  tries  her 
arms  and  legs,  like  a  young  crane  learning  to  fl}',  then 
jumps  up  and  down  as  iiigh  as  she  can,  quivering  her 
calves  (those  only  seats  of  emotion),  and  finally  gives 
a  great  spin  round,  as  long  as  possible,  looking  like  a 
bust  and  a  pair  of  legs,  with  ;ui  inverted  bowl  for  a 
petticoat.  This  she  puts  an  end  toby  tlie  usual  leaden 
stop,  as  if  rooted  with  fright ;  the  tribute  of  applause 
is  received  with  tlic  due  petrifaction  of  countenance, 
or  a  smile  no  less  unmeaning;  and  ofl'shc  walks  like 
her  inamorato,  equally  pompous  and  splay-footed,  to 
stand  cooling  herself  in  the  background,  and  to  aston- 
ish the  inexperienced  with  the  shortness  of  her  dra- 
pery and  the  corpulence  of  her  legs. 

Those  legs  arc  a  sight,  unquestionably.     If  any  two 
balustrades  of    a    bridge  were   wanting,  here    is    the 


340  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

remedy.  There  is  a  fair  dancer  now  at  the  opera, 
who,  from  a  principle  well  knovNMi  to  the  metaphysi- 
cal, seems  to  be  ostentatious  of  two  phenomena  of 
this  kind,  in  the  exact  proportion  that  she  ought  to 
conceal  them.  She  appears  to  consider  them  as  prize 
calves,  and  makes  as  great  a  show  of  her  favorites  as 
an  Essex  grazier.  The  simile  is  not  handsome,  but 
we  forget  the  bearer  is  a  woman  when  we  look  at 
such  legs.  Not  that  very  true  women  may  not  have 
legs  a  little  superfluous.  Madame  Pasta  has  them. 
Mrs.  Jordan's  legs  were  handsome  rather  as  a  man's 
than  a  woman's ;  and  yet  who  ever  doubted  that  she 
was  a  very  charming  female  ?  It  is  not  the  leg,  but  the 
spirit  with  which  it  is  worn  ;  and,  upon  this  princi- 
ple, a  woman  with  thick  ankles  may  step  about  our 
imaginations  like  a  fairy,  and  another  with  th.in  ones 
trample  them  as  if  they  were  lead.  If  a  woman  has 
grace  at  her  heart,  her  movements  will  be  graceful  and 
her  step  soft,  let  her  legs  be  what  size  they  may.  If 
she  has  not,  the  downwardness  of  her  spirit  will  put 
a  vulgar  weigiit  in  her  feet,  let  them  be  naturally  as 
light  as  a  zephyr's.  She  shall  shake  the  room  as  she 
walks,  like  an  ale-wife.  But  huge  legs  in  a  female 
are  not  particularly  valuable  for  their  own  sakes,  as 
our  fair  friend  at  the  opera  seems  to  think.  Dancing 
tends  to  make  them  so  ;  but  this  is  not  what  we  go 
to  see  dancing  for.  Here,  however,  lies  the  secret. 
Body  is  everything  in  opera  dancing,  and  mind  noth- 
ing. To  show  a  limb,  they  think,  is  —  to  show  a 
limb.  So  it  is  ;  and  nothing  else.  But  this  is  a 
stretch  of  the  intellectual  to  which  they  cannot  arrive. 
The  audience  instinctively  know  better ;  and  though 


-ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  34I 

they  stay  the  afterpiece  to  admire  more  than  they  pre- 
tend, are  at  once  amazed  and  disappointed  ;  amazed 
at  the  beauties  hivished  upon  them,  and  disappointed 
to  find  that  the  eflcct  is  not  more  beautiful.  This  is, 
perhaps,  as  it  should  be,  c\erything  considered  ;  but 
then  it  is  not  dancing.  There  might  be  a  great  deal 
less  display,  and  a  litllc  more  sense  ;  and  then  people 
might  think  of  those  they  loved,  and  have  their  im- 
aginations not  unseasonably  touched  :  for  grace  is  the 
link  between  body  and  soul  ;  and  a  sprinkle  of  that 
Attic  salt  on  the  public  mind  is  not  without  its  use. 
At  present,  whatsoever  their  inclination  to  the  con- 
trarv,  the  spectators,  before  the  scene  is  half  over,  feel 
only  that  there  is  a  glare  and  an  impertinence  ;  that  a 
few  half-naked-looking  people  arc  walking  about,  and 
twirling,  and  looking  stupid  ;  and  that  if  this  is  vo- 
luptuousness, it  is  a  very  indillerent  thing.  The  young 
may  be  amused  with  the  novelty,  and  the  imaginative 
may  try  hard  to  be  kind  to  it,  but  if  there  arc  other 
persons  present,  who  have  no  greater  ideas  of  what  is 
elegant  and  attractive,  than  the  scenes  they  meet  with 
ill  French  opera  dancing,  they  arc  in  as  fair  a  way  as 
can  be  of  being  the  commonest  and  weakest  people 
in  the  world,  and  realizing  as  little  true  pleasure  as 
the  wooden  faces  they  look  at.  Now  and  then  there 
is  a  single  figure  worth  seeing;  sometimes-,  though 
rarelv»  «  whole  ballet.  Des  Hayes  used  to  come 
bounding  on  tl»c  stage  like  a  deer.  Angiolini  was 
interesting  in  Flora  ;  and  even  V'estris  (as  long  as 
you  did  not  see  his  face)  had  an  efiect  beyond  that  of 
his  twirling,  when  he  touched  her  roimd  the  waist  as 
Zephyr,  and  took  her  with  him  up   in  the  air.     Hut 


343  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

there  was  poetry  in  the  story.  The  ah"  blew  from 
the  fields  of  Ovid  and  our  childhood.  The  best  opera 
dancei"  we  ever  saw  was  a  female  at  Turin,  of  the 
name  of  Dc  Martini.  She  united  the  activity  of  the 
French  school  with  the  grace  and  fervor  of  the  Ital- 
ian ;  and  did  not  make  her  bounds  and  her  twirlings 
for  nothing.  She  would  come,  for  instance,  from  the 
other  end  of  the  stage,  in  a  series  of  giddy  move- 
ments, and  finish  them  with  pitching  herself  into  her 
lover's  arms.  Here  was  love  and  animal  spirits  too, 
each  warranting  and  throwing  a  grace  on  the  other. 
Surely  a  set  of  Italian  or  Spanish  dancers  would  make 
a  revolution  in  tliis  matter,  in  the  course  of  a  season 
too,  and  put  an  end  to  a  school  which  must  be  as 
little  profitable  in  the  comparison  as  it  is  unmeaning 
and  dclightless. 

How  difi'erent  a  French  opera  dance,  and  one  of 
their  dances  on  a  green  of  a  Sunday  evening!  We 
have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  latter ;  and 
nothing  could  be  merrier  or  to  the  purpose.  But 
there  is  all  the  difference  in  the  world  between  French 
nature  and  French  art.     The  one  is  human  nature  — 

"  Dance,  and  Provencal  song,  and  sun-burnt  mirth  ;  " 

the  other  is  Paris  and  affectation,  the  pedantry  of 
pleasure.  French  opera  dancing  is  like  French  palm- 
ing,—  a  petrifaction  of  art,  an  attempt  to  set  rules 
above  the  relish  of  the  thing  ;  and  it  ends  in  the  same 
way,  by  being  a  kind  of  inanimate  sculpture.  Their 
dances  on  the  green  are  as  good  as  the  dancing  of 
birds.  Spanish  dancing  is  more  passionate.  We 
thought  when  we  first  saw  a  bolero  we  had  never  seen 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  343 

dancing  before.  Those  fervid  alternations  of  court- 
siiip,  and  that  wild  careering  of  one  person  round 
the  other,  dancing  in  every  limb,  and  seeming  to 
sweep  the  very  ground  as  they  went  with  the  tips  of 
their  fingers,  the  music  fermenting  all  the  wdiile,  and 
the  castanets  cracking  like  joints,  —  it  looked  like  a 
couple  of  aboriginal  beings  newly  made  out  of  the 
whole  ardor  of  the  south,  and  not  knowing  how  to 
vent  the  tormenting  pleasure  of  their  existence.  De 
Martini  made  us  feel  tliat  all  tiiis  misrht  be  controlled 
into  a  sentiment;  and  Italian  dancing,  wc  should 
guess,  would  be  as  fine,  in  its  way,  as  Italian  paint- 
ing and  music,  if  properly  cultivated.  The  Germans 
used  to  be  violent  dancers,  as  became  their  heavy- 
laden  tal)les.  Of  kite  years  they  have  taken  to  the 
most  languid  and  voluptuous  of  all  dances,  as  if  they 
had  no  alternative  but  to  go  to  an  extreme.  We  must 
not  omit  to  do  justice  to  one  French  dance,  the  min- 
uet, which  is  the  perfection  of  artificial  grace,  the 
dance  of  the  courtier  and  fine  lady,  brimful  of  mutual 
compliment,  arising  out  of  an  infinite  self-satisfaction. 
A  bow  or  courtesy  is  made,  as  if  it  were  to  nothing 
under  a  prince  or  princess.  A  tip  of  the  finger  is 
presented  as  if  it  were  a  jewel.  How  proud  the 
deference!  How  dignified  the  resumption!  What 
loftiness  in  the  hat!  What  greater  ascendency  in 
the  very  sink  of  the  petticoat !  What  idolatry  and 
self-idolatry  of  approach  !  What  intensity  of  separa- 
tion, the  parties  retreating  wiiii  high  worship  from  one 
another,  as  if  to  leave  space  enough  for  their  triumph 
to  swell  in  !  It  seems  as  if  noncr.hould  dance  a  min- 
uet after  Louis  the   Fourteenth  ami   his  Montespans. 


344  THE    WISIIING-CAP   PAPERS. 

It  is  the  excess  of  pretension,  becoming  something 
real  on  that  account ;  and  belongs  to  an  age  of  false 
triumph  and  flattered  assuniptions.  The  Minuet  do 
la  Cour  is  the  best  minuet,  and  seems  to  have  been 
inspired  by  its  name.  Mozart's  minuet  in  Don  Juan 
is  beautiful  and  victorious  ;  but  it  is  not  as  pregnant 
with  assumptions  as  the  other,  like  a  hooped  petticoat ; 
it  does  not  rise  and  fall,  and  step  about  in  the  same  style 
of  quiet  and  imdoubted  perfection,  like  a  Sir  Charles 
Grandison  or  Lady  Grave-airs  :  it  is  more  natural  and 
sincere,  and  might  be  danced  anywhere  by  any  two 
lovers,  not  the  nicest  in  the  world,  proclaiming  their 
triumph.  W^e  have  seen  Charles  Vestris  and  somebody 
else,  we  forget  whom,  dance  the  Minuet  de  la  Cour, 
but  it  was  not  the  real  thing.  You  missed  the  real  pre- 
tep.ders, --- the  proper  fine  gentleman  and  lady.  Mr. 
Kemble  should  liavc  danced  a  minuet,  if  he  could 
have  danced  at  all ;  and  Mrs.  Oldfield  risen  in  her 
"  chintz  and  Brussels  lace  "  to  accompany  him. 

Let  us  not,  however,  be  ungrateful  to  all  stage- 
dancing  in  England.  Three  stage  loves  have  we 
known  in  the  days  of  oiu"  }outh  ;  as  good  love,  and 
better,  than  is  usually  entertained  towards  persons 
one  is  not  acquainted  with  ;  for  it  gave  us  an  interest 
ever  after  in  the  fair  iuspirers  :  and  two  of  these  ladies 
were  dancers.  Our  first  passion  of  the  kind  was  for 
the  fine  eyes  and  cordial  voice  of  Miss  Murray,  after- 
wards Mrs.  Ilenry  Sicldons  ;  our  second  for  the  lady- 
like figure  and  sweet,  serious  countenance  of  Miss 
Searle,  a  dancer  (since  dead),  who  married  the  broth- 
er of  Sir  Gilbert  Heathcote  ;  and  our  third  for  tlie 
pretty  etubonpoint  and  ripe  little  black  head  of  Miss 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHr:S.  345 

Lupino,  since  Mrs.  Noble,  whose  clever  self  and  hus- 
band may  dancing  preserve  !  We  thought,  when  slie 
married,  she  had  made  the  fittest  choice  in  the  world. 
We  hope  these  declarations,  which  are  the  first  we 
ever  made,  are  innocent ;  especially  as  we  make  them 
only  to  our  Companion  the  reader.  They  are  for 
nobody  else  to  hear.  We  speak  in  a  stage  whisper. 
Our  theatrical  passion,  at  present,  as  he  well  knows, 
is  for  Madame  Pasta  ;  and  we  shall  proceed,  as  we 
did  in  the  other  cases,  to  show  our  gratitude  for  the 
pleasure  she  gives  us,  by  doing  her  all  the  good  in  our 
power,  and  not  letting  her  know  a  word  on  the  sub- 
ject. If  this  is  not  a  disinterested  passion,  we  know 
not  what  is. 

A  word  or  two  on  our  English  manner  of  dancing 
in  private :  our  quadrilles  and  coinitry  dances.  A 
fair  friend  of  ours,  whenever  she  has  an  objection  to 
make  to  the  style  of  a  person's  behavior,  says,  "  he 
requires  a  good  shaking."  Tliis  is  wliat  may  be  said 
of  most  of  the  performers  in  our  ball-rooms,  particu- 
larly the  male.  Our  gentlemen  dancers  forget  the 
part  ihcy  assume  on  all  other  occasions,  as  cncour- 
agers  and  payers  of  compliment;  and  seem,  as  if  in 
despair  of  equalling  their  fair  friends,  they  had  no 
object  but  to  get  through  the  dance  undetected.  The 
best  thing  they  do  for  their  partner  is  to  hand  her  an 
ice  or  a  lemonade  ;  the  very  going  for  which  appears 
to  be  as  great  a  refreshment  to  them  as  the  taking  it 
is  to  the  other.  When  the  dance  is  resumeil  all  llitir 
gravity  returns.  They  look  very  cut  and  dr\ ,  and 
succinct ;  jog  along  with  an  air  of  indiilcrence,  and 
leave  the  vivacity  of  the  young  lady  to  shift  for  itself. 


346  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPEKS. 

The  most  self-satisfied  male  dancer  we  ever  saw,  was 
one  wlio,  being  contented  with  his  own  legs,  could 
never  take  his  eyes  off  them,  but  seemed  eternally 
congratulating  them  and  himself  that  they  were  fit  to 
be  seen.  The  next  thing  to  this,  is  to  be  always 
thinking  of  the  figure  ;  which,  indeed,  is  the  main 
consideration  both  of  gentlemen  and  ladies.  Where 
there  is  anything  beyond,  the  ladies  have  it,  out  and 
out.  The  best  private  dancer  we  know  among  the 
male  sex,  is  one  who  nVakes  it  his  business  to  attend 
to  his  partner  ;  to  set  ofl'with  her  as  if  she  were  a  part 
of  his  pleasure,  and  to  move  among  the  others  as  if 
there  were  such  things  in  the  world  as  companion- 
ship, and  a  sense  of  it.  And  this  he  does  with  equal 
spirit  and  modesty.  Our  readers  may  know  of  more 
instances,  and  may  help  to  furnish  them ;  but  the 
reverse  is  assuredly  the  case  in  general.  Perhaps  it 
was  not  so  in  the  livelier  times  of  our  ancestors,  when 
taxation  had  not  forced  us  to  think  so  much  of  "  num- 
ber one  ;  "  and  the  general  knowledge,  that  is  pre- 
paring a  still  better  era,  had  not  unsettled  the  minds 
of  all  classes  of  people  as  to  their  incHvidual  preten- 
sions. Perhaps,  also,  dress  makes  a  difference.  Men 
may  have  been  more  confident  in  cloaks  and  doub- 
lets than  in  the  flaps  and  horse-collars  of  the  present 
day.  To  get  up  a  dance  on  the  sudden,  nowadays, 
on  the  green  lawn,  would  look  ridiculous  on  the  men's 
part.  •At  least,  they  feel  as  if  it  would  ;  and  this 
would  help  to  make  it  so.  On  the  otlier  hand,  a  set 
of  gallant  apprentices  in  their  caps  and  doublets,  or 
of  wits  and  cavaliers  in  their  mantles  and  plumage, 
had  all  the  world  before  them,  for  action  or  for  grace  ; 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  347 

and  a  painter  could  put  them  on  canvas  with  no  det- 
riment to  the  scenery.  We  are  far  from  desiring  to 
bring  back  those  distinctions.  It  is  very  possible  for 
an  apprentice  nowadays  to  know  twice  as  much  as  a 
cavalier  ;  and  we  would  have  no  distinctions  at  all  but 
between  spirit  and  spirit.  But  a  dress  disadvanta- 
geous to  everybody,  is  good  for  nothing  but  to  increase 
other  disadvantages.  Above  all,  a  little  more  spirit 
in  our  mode  of  dancing,  and  a  little  more  of  the 
dancing  itself,  without  the  formality  of  regular  balls, 
would  do  us  good,  and  give  our  energies  a  fillip  on 
the  side  of  cheerfulness.  Families  and  intimate 
friends  would  find  themselves  benefited  in  health  and 
spirits,  perhaps  to  an  extent  of  which  they  have  no 
conception,  by  setting  apart  an  evening  or  so  in  the 
week  for  a  dance  among  themselves.  If  we  have  not 
much  of  '•  the  poetry  of  motion  "  among  us,  we  may 
have  plenty  of  the  motion  itself,  which  is  the  hcallliy 
part  of  it ;  and  the  next  best  performer  to  such  a  one 
as  wc  have  described  is  he  who  gives  himself  up  to 
the  pleasure  and  sociality  of  the  moment,  whether 
a  good  dancer  or  not. 
1828. 


34S  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


RECOLLECTIONS   OF   OLD   ACTORS. 

THE  removal  of  our  place  of  publication  to  Brydg- 
cs  Street  has  reminded  us,  that  many  years  ago 
we  began  writing  theatricals  at  the  house  two  doors 
from  us,  where  the  paper  (The  News)  is  still  pub- 
lished in  which  we  made  our  dilbzit.  May  it  live  for- 
ever! Wo  rejoice  in  its  neighborhood,  and  hope  it 
is  not  sorry  for  ours.  It  must  now  be  nearly  tliirty 
years  since  we  first  wrote  articles  in  the  newspapers. 
We  were  then  in  our  boyhood,  or  rather  lad-hood. 
Not  many  3ears  short  of  that  period,  we  adventured 
on  the  perilous  task  of  criticism  ;  and  here  we  are 
again,  in  the  same  street,  almost  on  the  same  spot, 
occupied  with  a  new  paper,*   and  pursuing  the  old 

*  ThaTatler,  a  literary  nnd  tliMtvicnl  pnpcr,  which  Hunt  edited  from  Septem- 
ber 4,  1830,  to  February  14,  1S32.  "  Ilwns  a  very  httls  wirk, "  h3  writes,  in  his 
Autobio.c;raphy,  "consisting  but  of  foui'  folio  pages  ;  but  it  was  a  daily  publica- 
tion. I  did  it  all  myself,  except  wh^n  too  ill  ;  nnd  illness  s':;li.'.om  hindered  mc 
either  from  supp'ying  th::  review  of  a  book,  going  every  night  to  the  play,  or 
writing  tlic  notice  of  th,-  play  the  snm3  night  at  the  printing-office.  The  conse- 
quence was,  that  work,  slight  as  it  looked,  nearly  kiiled  me;  for  it  never  pros- 
pered beyond  the  coterie  of  play-going  readers,  to  whom  it  was  almost  ex- 
clusively known  ;  and  I  was  sensible  of  becoming  weaker  and  poorer  every  day. 
When  I  came  home  at  night,  often  at  morning,  I  used  to  feci  as  if  I  could 
hardiy  speak;  and  for  a  year  and  a  half  afterwards  a  certain  grain  of  fatigue 
seimed  to  pervade  my  limbs,  which  I  thought  would  nevor  go  off'.  Such,  never- 
theless, is  a  habit  of  mind,  if  it  be  but  cu'tivated,  tliat  my  spirits  niver  seemed 
belter,  no.-  did  I  ever  write  theatricals  so  wsl',  as  in  the  pages  of  ihis  most  un- 
remuncraiingsi  eculation."  According  t.-i  SirThomas  N.  'I'alfuurd,  Leigh  Hunt 
g.-iVj  ihoalric.il  critlc.sm  a  plac>  in  mjJjrn  liter.iturj.  '' 1.;  crit.'jism,  thus  just 
and  ricturesque,"  says  Sir  Thomas,  "Mr.  Hunt  has  never  been  approached; 
and  the  wonder  is,  that  instead  ol  falling  off  with  the  art  of  acting,  he  even  grew 
richer;  for  the  articles  of  the  Tailor,  equalling  those  of  the  Examiner  in  niceness 
of  discrimination,  are  superior  to  ihem  in  depth  and  coloring."  —  Talfourd's 
Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Writings,  article  On  the  Late  WiJliam  Hazlitt.  —  Ed. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  349 

track.  It  makes  us  feel  as  if  we  were  beginning  life 
over  again. 

Drury  Lane  Theatre  is  not  the  same  identical 
Dnn y  Lane  it  was  then.  It  is  on  the  same  spot,  but 
its  body  has  been  altered.  It  is  the  old  friend  with 
a  new  face.  Covent  Garden  has  experienced  the 
same  rejuvenescence.  Alas  !  why  cannot  actors  and 
play-goers  grow  young  again  too  !  Why  cannot  they 
be  old  friends  with  new  faces,  —  the  interior  spirit 
the  same,  but  the  body  remoulderl  !  How  patiently 
one  would  stand  to  have  the  scaffold  set  up  round 
about  us,  while  the  little  genii  (whoever  they  were 
that  acted  tlie  part  of  bricklayers)  should  pursue 
their  task  of  restoration,  elevating  one's  front,  extend- 
ing the  wings,  and  new  glazing  those  dimmed  win- 
dows, the  eyes  !  Then  to  take  down  the  scallblding  ; 
and  like  the  statue  of  Memnon,  we  would  sing  at  the 
touch  of  morning. 

It  is  n  pity  that  some  such  thing  cannot  take  place, 
for  t!ie  sake  of  those  that  particularly  desire  it.  Rab- 
elais says  that  he  was  sure  he  must  have  been  the 
son  of  a  king,  because  nobody  had  more  princely 
inclinations.  We  incline,  in  the  same  manner,  to  be 
so  young  in  our  feelings,  and  to  desire  such  a  good 
long  life  before  us  to  do  a  world  of  tilings  in,  that 
it  .seems  as  if  we  had  a  right  to  it.  Mortality  is  a 
good  provision,  cOnsidermg  tliat  the  world  has  not 
come  to  its  state  of  enjoyment,  and  that  peo[)le  in 
genvr.'d,  by  the  lime  they  arc  forty,  hardly  know 
what  to  do  with  their  Sundays:  but  an  exception 
might  be  made,  we  think,  in  favor  of  th(jse  who 
could  occupy  all  their  hours  some  way  or  other  for 


350  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPEBS. 

a  hundred  )ears  to  come,  and  who  have  not  yet  got 
over  their  love  even  of  gingerbread.  It  will  take 
us  at  least  twenty  years  longer  before  we  arrive  at 
an  indiflerence  to  lemon-cake.  A  "  book  of  pic- 
tures"  we  cannot  conceive  the  possibility  of  not 
caring  for ;  and  as  to  the  bright  visions  of  nymphs, 
and  goddesses,  and  Miss  Smith,  which  filled  our 
dreams,  sleeping  and  waking,  do  we  not  take  Mad- 
ame Pasta  for  the  very  personification  of  truth?  and 
did  we  not  go  seven  times  to  see  Miss  Inverarity, 
because  she  has  the  very  voice  of  cheerful  girlhood, 
high  and  trusting,  and  we  are  sure,  while  we  are 
hearing  her,  tliat  there  is  one  person  among  the 
audience  of  her  own  age?  Did  we,  and  do  we 
not  believe  in  the  marvels  of  Cinderella,  just  as  much 
as  if  we  had  come  ten  minutes  ago,  from  reading 
the  little  gilt  story-book  on  a  school  step.''  And  did 
not  the  dance  of  the  nymphs  with  torches  appear  to 
us  as  if  a  page  out  of  Ovid  had  become  true.-^  Have 
we  not,  in  short,  faith  infinite,  hope,  —  we  dare  to 
add  charity  ;  yea,  even  more  than  we  had  at  sophis- 
ticate seventeen,  when  people  are  for  being  some- 
thing diflerent  from  what  they  are?  We  beg  leave 
to  say,  our  age  \^  fifteen;  we  have  run  the  great 
circle,  and  come  round  to  it:  and  we  think  it  a  lit- 
tle hard  that  we  are  forced  to  look  so  much  older. 

There  is  scarcely  any  one  performer  remaining  at 
Drury  Lane  of  all  that  we  remember  when  we  first 
began  writing  theatricals.  We  are  not  sure  there  is 
even  one.  Liston  and  Dowton  came  soon,  but  we 
recollect  the  dibuts  of  both  :  —  of  the  former  cer- 
tainly.     Farren    is   quite    a    modern,    and    Harley. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  35 1 

Mis.  Orger  made  her  appearance  years  afterwards, 
and  we  have  none  of  the  then  old  ladies,  Mrs. 
Sparks,  Mrs.  Mattocks,  Miss  Pope.  The  reigning 
women  then  were,  Miss  Pope,  with  her  precise  bit 
of  a  voice,  and  genuine  humor, —  Mrs.  Mattocks, 
who  h;ul  a  never-failing  recipe  of  a  sudden  flash  of 
laughter,  starting  out  of  an  acrid  face;  —  the  beau- 
tiful and  good-natured  Mrs.  Powell,  with  her  honeyed 
tones  (those  who  recollect  them  surely  must  do 
something  for  her  in  her  old  age);  —  Miss  Murray 
(afterwards  Mrs.  Henry  Siddons),  with  her  sweet 
voice  and  eyes,  the  latter  a  little  too  rolling;  —  Mrs. 
Henry  Johnstone,  a  slight,  handsome  creature,  with  a 
formidable  power  of  looking  vixenish  ;  — Miss  Dun- 
can, now  Mrs.  Davison,  long  a  most  clever  actress 
with  a  liberal  style;  Mrs.  Jordan,  delightful  Mrs. 
Jordan,  whose  voice  did  away  the  cares  of  the  whole 
house,  before  they  saw  her  con-!c  in,  and  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons, tiic  mighty  mother  of  the  pall  and  sceptre. 
Wc  always  remember  her  as  the  mother,  —  as  some- 
thing elderly,  and  even  gaunt.  We  suspect  that, 
with  all  her  talents,  she  was,  by  nature,  something 
of  a  dowager,  compared  with  such  a  queen  as  Pasta. 

Mrs.  Gibbs  was  flourishing  at  that  time,  but  she 
was  at  tiic  Haymarket,  very  good,  and  very  pretty 
in  chambermaids  and  black-mittencd  rustics. 

There  also  was  Mrs.  Mills,  a  tight  little  actress, 
whose  tightness  led  her  to  play  drummers ;  and 
Madame  Stoiace,  loud,  free,  and  clever,  with  a  reedy 
voice;  and  Mrs,  Crouch,  once  lovely,  then  going  the 
way  of  all  forsaken  Princes'  mistresses  ;  and  Mrs. 
Billington,  the  favorite  great   singer,   looking  like  a 


353  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

handsome  apoplex}',  and  straining  her  throat  till  you 
thoii2;ht  she  would  have  one  ;  and  Mrs.  Bland,  the 
favorite  little  singer,  with  a  voice  like  her  name, 
and  a  short,  thick  person,  and  dark  face  to  match, 
which  her  sweet  hallads  made  ever  welcome.  What 
trouhles  did  not  all  these  people  have  !  What  pleas- 
ures too !  And  how  much  pleasure  did  they  not 
give  ! 

With  respect  to  the  men,  we  begin  to  think  that 
Mathews  was  at  Drury  Lane  in  those  days  ;  but  we 
are  not  sure.  We  remember  him  at  the  Ilaymarket, 
where  Liston  came  out.  EUiston  was  the  great  man 
at  Drurv,  and  John  Kemble  at  Covent  Garden.  We 
used  to  be  Iieretical  enougli  to  think  the  former  the 
greater  natural  genius  of  the  two,  though  of  a  less 
heroicai  turn  for  tracredv  ;  and  we  think  so  still.  As 
a  cordial  and  dashing  comedian,  in  first-rate  charac- 
ters, we  never  saw  him  equalled.  No  gallant  knew 
how  to  make  love  as  he  did.  He  had  a  fervor  and  a 
breath,  as  well  as  a  cheerful  eve  and  a  most  ur^fent 
voice,  that  made  his  energy  of  some  consequence. 

Lewis  surpassed  him  in  airiness  ;  but  there  was  no 
gentleman  comedian  who  comprised  so  many  quali- 
ties of  his  art  as  he  did,  or  who  could  diverge  so  well 
into  those  parts  of  tragedy,  which  find  a  connecting 
link  with  the  graver  powers  of  the  comedian  in  their 
gracefulness  and  humanity.  He  was  the  best  Wild- 
air,  the  best  Archer,  the  best  Aranza  ;  and  carrying 
the  seriousness  of  Aranza  a  little  further,  or  making 
him  a  tragic  gentleman  instead  of  a  comic,  he  be- 
came the  best  Mortimer,  and  even  the  best  Macbeth, 
of  any  performer  who  excelled  in  comedy.     When 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  353 

Charles  Kemble  acts  corned)',  he  gives  you  the  idea 
of  an  actor  who  has  come  out  of  the  chivah-ous  part 
of  tragedy.  It  is  "[race  and  show  that  are  most  natu- 
rol  to  him,  — the  ideal  of  mciliocrity.  EUiston  being 
natural!}'  a  comedian,  and  comedy  of  the  highest  class 
demanding  a  greater  sympatliy  with  actual  flesh  and 
blood,  his  tragedy,  though  less  graceful  than  Charles 
Kemble's,  was  more  natural  and  cordial.  He  suffered 
and  was  shaken  more.  The  other,  in  his  greatest 
grief,  is  but  like  the  statue  of  some  Apollo  Belvedere 
vivified,  frowning  in  beauty,  and  making  a  grace  of 
his  sorrow.  The  god  remains  impassive  to  ordinary 
suffering.  EUiston's  features  were  nothing  nearly  so 
handsome  or  so  fniely  cut  as  the  otlicrs  ;  but  they 
were  more  sensitive  and  intelligent.  lie  had  nothing 
of  the  poetry  of  tragedy  ;  the  other  has  the  form  of  it ; 
but  Elhston,  in  Macbeth,  could  give  you  something 
of  the  weak,  and  sanguine,  and  misgiving  usurper; 
and  in  Mortimer,  in  the  Iron  Chest,  he  has  moved  the 
audience  to  tears.  It  ought  not  to  be  forgotten,  that 
he  restored  that  character  to  the  stage,  when  John 
Kemble  had  killed  it  with  his  frigidity.* 

Tile  tragedy  of  this  accomplished  actor  was,  b.ow- 
ever,  only  an  elongation,  or  drawing  out,  of  the  graver 
and  more  sensitive  part  of  his  comedy.  It  was  in 
comedy  that  he  was  the  master.  When  Kean  ap- 
peared and  cxlinguislied  Kemble,  Elliston  seems  pru- 
dently to  have  ])ut  out  his  tragic  lamp.  In  comedy, 
after  ti)c  death  of  Lewis,  he  remained  without  a  rival. 

•  For  a  lively  and  cniislic  .iccoiint  of  tlie  tnnnncr  in  which  Kcmbic  performed 
ih?  put  of  Sir  F,  Iw.ird  Motlim.-r,  see  CoIiiliu'r  pri-f.icc  to  the  first  edition  of 
The  Iron  Chest,  reprinted  in  Hotten't  eJitiun  of  Itroad  Ciint.  —  £o. 

23 


354  THE    WISHING-CAP   PAPERS. 

He  had  three  distinguislied  excellences,  —  dry  humor, 
gentlemanly  mirth,  and  fervid  gallantry.  His  fea- 
tures were  a  little  too  round,  and  his  person  latterly 
became  a  great  deal  too  much  so.  But  we  speak  of 
him  in  his  best  days.  His  face,  in  one  respect,  was 
of  that  rare  order,  which  is  peculiarly  fitted  for  the 
expression  of  enjoyment :  —  it  laughed  with  the  eyes 
.as  well  as  moiith.  His  eyes,  which  were  not  large, 
grew  smaller  when  he  was  merry,  and  twinkled  with 
glee  and  archness  ;  his  smile  was  full  of  enjo3-mcnt ; 
and  yet  the  moment  he  shook  his  head  with  a  satirical 
deprecation,  or  dropped  the  expression  of  his  face  into 
an  innuendo,  nothing  could  be  dryer  or  more  angular 
than  his  mouth.  There  was  a  generosity  in  his  style, 
both  in  its  greater  and  smaller  points.  He  understood 
all  the  little  pretended  or  avowed  arts  of  a  gentleman, 
when  he  was  conversing  or  complimenting,  or  mak- 
ing love,  everything  which  implied  the  necessity  of 
attention  to  the  other  person,  and  a  just,  and  as  it 
were,  mutual  consciousness  of  the  graces  of  life  on 
his  own.  His  manners  had  the  true  minuet  dance 
spirit  of  gentilit}^  —  the  knowledge  how  to  give  and 
take,  with  a  certain  recognition  of  the  merits  on  either 
side,  even  in  the  midst  of  raillery.  And  then  his 
voice  was  remarkable  for  its  union  of  the  manly  with 
the  melodious ;  and  as  a  lover,  nobody  approached 
him.  Certainly  nobody  approached  a  woman  as  he 
did.  It  was  the  reverse  of  that  preposterous  style  of 
touch  and  avoids  —  that  embracing  at  arms'  length, 
and  hinting  of  a  mutual  touch  on  the  shoulders,  —  by 
which  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  stage  think  fit 
to  distinguish   themselves   from  the   characters   they 


ESSAYS   AND    SKETCHES.  355 

perform,  and  even  the  Pollys  and  Macheaths  propi- 
tiate our  good  opinion.  EUiston  made  out  that  it  was 
no  shame  to  love  a  woman,  and  no  shame  in  her 
to  return  his  passion.  He  took  her  hand,  he  cherished 
it  against  his  bosom,  he  watched  the  moving  of  her 
countenance,  he  made  the  space  less  and  less  between 
them,  and  as  he  at  length  burst  out  into  some  excla- 
mation of  "  charming  !  "  or  "  lovely  !  "  his  voice  trem- 
bled, not  with  weakness,  but  with  the  strength  and  fer- 
vor of  its  emotion.  All  the  love,  on  the  stage,  since 
this  (with  the  exception  of  Macready's  domestic  ten- 
derness), is  not  worth  twopence,  and  fit  only  to  beget 
waiters. 

In  calling  to  mind  the  pleasant  hours  that  have  been 
given  us  by  the  talents  of  EUiston,  we  must  not  forget 
to  mention  his  defects.  In  tragedy,  for  want  of  a 
strong  sympathv  with  the  seri<nis,  he  sometimes  got 
into  a  commonplace  turbulence,  and  at  otiiers  put  on 
an  aOected  solemnity  ;  and  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
hawing  between  his  words.  The  longer  he  was  a 
manager,  the  worse  this  habit  became.  He  was  not 
naturally  inclined  to  the  authoritative  ;  but  having  once 
commenced  it  in  order  to  give  weight  to  his  levity,  he 
seems  to  have  carried  about  llie  habit  with  him  to 
maintain  his  importance.  Unfortunately,  he  fancied 
that  he  was  never  more  natural  than  on  these  occa- 
sions. He  said  once,  at  tlic  table  of  a  fiiend  of  ours, 
clapping  himself  on  the  knee,  and  breathing  with  his 
usual  fervor,  "  Nature-rtrw,  sir,  is  everything-atc'.'  \-avj 
am  alwayH-rt:y  natural-rzTf." 

Theodore  Hook  had  a  ludicrous  story  of  liis  calling 
upon  EUiston  at  the  Surrey  Theatre,  and  having  some 


35^  THE    WIS1II\G-CAP    PAPERS. 

conversation  with  liini  in  the  midst  of  his  manairerial 
occupations.  In  the  course  of  their  dialogue,  EUistou 
would  start  in  a  graiul  manner  fiom  the  subject,  and 
give  some  direction  to  his  underlings.  He  called  for 
two  of  them  successively  in  the  following  man- 
ner :  — 

EUiston  —  (turning  suddenly  to  the  right,  and 
breathing  with  all  his  fervor).  "  Night  watchman  !  " 
—  (Enter  night  watchman,  and  has  a  word  or  two 
spoken  to  him  by  the  manager.) 

Elliston  —  (scarcely  having  resumed  the  discourse, 
and  turning  suddenly  as  before).  "  Other  night 
watchman  !  "  —  (Enter  other  night  watchman,  and  is 
spoken  to  in  like  manner.  The  histrionic  sovereign 
then  resumes  his  discourse  with  Mr.  Hook,  with 
tranquil  dignity). 

We  had  an  hour's  conversation  with  him  once  at 
Drury  Lane  ;  during  which,  in  answer  to  some  obser- 
vation we  made  respecting  the  quantity  of  business  he 
had  to  get  through,  he  told  us,  that  he  had  formed 
himself  "  on  the  model  of  the  Grand  Pensionary  De 
Witt."  Coming  with  him  out  of  the  theatre,  we 
noticed  the  present  portico  in  Brydges  Street,  which 
had  just  been  added  to  the  front,  and  said  that  it 
seemed  to  have  started  up  like  magic.  "  Yes,  sir," 
said  he,  ''  energy  is  the  tiling:  —  I  no  sooner  said  it, 
than  it  was  done  :  —  it  was  a  Bonaparte  blowy 

There  was  real  energy  in  all  this,  and  the  right 
animal  spirits,  as  well  as  an  innocent  pedantry  :  nor 
did  it  hinder  him  from  being  the  delightful  comedian 
we  have  described.  He  could  not  have  been  it,  had 
he  not  been  pleased  with  himself:   and  a  little  super- 


ESSAYS   AND   SKETCHES.  357 

fliious  self-complacency  off  the  stage  was  to  be  par- 
doned him.  A  siiccesstul  actor  would  bo  a  phenome- 
non of  modestv  if  he  were  not  one  of  the  vainest 
of  men.  Nobody  gets  such  applause  as  he  does,  and 
in  such  an  intoxicating  way,  except  a  conqueror  en- 
tering a  cit}-. 

Then  there  was  Bannister  (now  enjoying  the  otiu?}i 
cum  benignitatc)^  at  the  top  of  another  line  of  com- 
edy, not  omitting  homely  domestic  tragedy.  His 
Walter,  in  the  Children  in  the  Wood,  was  as  good, 
in  its  wav,  as  Mrs.  Siddons's  Lady  Macbeth  ;  and  his 
Job  Thornberry,  in  John  Bull,  was  as  superior  to 
Fawcetl's,  as  a  brazier  is  to  his  brass.  Bannister 
was  one  of  those  actors  who  give  you  the  idea  of 
being  genuine  honest  men,  and  make  you  happy. 
Fawcett  was  excellent  also  in  his  line,  which  was 
that  of  impudent  servants  and  gambling  pedagogues. 
No  Pangloss  and  Caleb  Qiiotem  have  ever  been  so 
good  as  his.  The  other  men  were  John  Kemble, 
the  very  statue  of  an  old  Roman  set  walking;  Pope, 
who  had  a  dashing  tragic  style,  but  was  monoto- 
nous, and  was  always  lifting  up  his  arms,  like  St. 
Paul  preaching  at  Athens;  Raymond,  a  melodra- 
matic sort  of  actor,  more  intelligent  tlian  Jtny  one 
of  the  present,  though  harsh  ;  Ilcnry  Johnstone,  an- 
other, of  a  more  ideal  cast,  and  more  quietly  effective, 
though  his  handsomeness  made  him  somewhat  fop- 
pish ;  Murray,  the  father  of  Miss  Murray,  a  vcr\'  sensi- 
ble and  pleasing  actor  in  old  gentlemen  ;  I*owcll,  the 
last  of  the  declamatory,  white-handkerchief  mourners 
of  an  older  school  ;  Lewis,  the  essence  of  liglitness, 
of  whim,  of  the  mcrcui  ial  (we  have  often  described 


358 


THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


him  :  *  he  is  not  to  be  replaced)  ;  Munden,  who  made 
every  trifle  of  importance,  and  masticated  his  grins  till 
they  were  irresistible  ;  Simons,  the  most  filching  of 
filchers  ;  Emery,  a  perfect  Yorkshireman,  startling  in 
rustic  tragedy ;  Wewitzer,  the  only  Canton ;  Irish 
Johnstone,  of  most  lackadaisical  potency,  and  a  good 
singer ;  Blanchard,  the  best  Marquis  de  Grand  Cha 
teau  we  have  seen,  a  most  petulant  and  palsied  Signor, 
—  still  extant,  and  much,  in  other  things,  as  he  was ; 
and  afterwards  came  Cooke,  who  took  almost  all  the 
ideal  out  of  tragedy,  but  put  some  good  stuff  into 
it,  and  was  a  painfully  good  Sir  Pertinax  ;  then  Mas- 
ter Betty,  the  plaything  of  declamation,  whose  clev- 
erness deserved  a  better  fate ;  and  after  an  interval, 
with  many  others  still  flouiushing,  Kean,  the  finest 
actor  we  ever  beheld. 

We  ought  to  mention  Robert  Palmer,  a  dogged  kind 
of  natural  actor,  especiall}'  in  charactei's  of  sturdy  im- 


*  Let  the  reader  picture  to  himself  a  slight,  youthful  figure,  of  middle  height, 
with  sprightly  eyes  half  shut  with  laughing,  a  mouth  that  showed  its  teeth  a  httle 
when  it  smiled  ;  restless,  and  yet  gentlemanly  manners  ;  a  pair  of  gloved  hands 
that  went  through  all  the  varieties  of  illustration  that  hands  can  insinuate,  and 
thrust  the  point  of  a  joke  into  your  ribs  with  a  finger,  to  the  exclamation  of  "you 
dog  !  "  —  light  airy  voice,  harmonizing  with  the  look  of  the  face,  often  out  of  breath 
with  spirits,  and  reposing  sometimes  on  long  lower  tones  of  ludicrous  contrast ;  a 
head  full  of  nods,  and  becks,  and  fiutterings  ;  and  lastly,  a  habit  of  finishing  his 
sentences  with  indescribable  exclamations  oi  hoo .'  ^xi&phoo  !  and  a  look  of  pouting 
astonishment,  as  if  nothing  remained  on  earth  to  wonder  at  but  his  triumphant 
foppery,  and  he  joined  the  astonishment  in  order  to  be  in  the  fashion.  We  have 
nothing  like  it  nowadays  :  nothing  so  thin,  so  airy,  so  gentlemanly,  so  eternally 
young  :  for  Lewis  was  the  very  same  to  the  last.  His  slenderness  and  his  animal 
spirits  preserved  his  look  of  juvenility  to  the  moment  when  he  took  leave  of  the 
stage.  It  was  in  the  Copper  Captain,  with  his  epaulets  dancing  on  his  shoulders. 
He  came  forward  at  the  end  of  the  play  to  take  leave,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  perhaps,  when  on  the  stage,  the  good-natured  actor  shed  tears  and  caused 
them.  His  gay  voice  failed  him  as  he  told  the  public  that  "  for  thirty  years  he 
had  not  once  incurred  their  di";pleasure :  "  and  he  was  obliged  to  put  up  his 
cocked  hat  before  his  face  to  hide  his  emotion. 


ESSAYS    AXD    SKETCHES.  359 

pudence  or  sottishncss ;  but  we  knew  him  only  in  his 
decline.  John  Palmer  was  before  our  time.  So  was 
Miss  Farren  :  and  Suett  was  before  our  critical  days, 
thou<yh  we  remember  him  well,  with  his  quaint,  thin 
manner,  and  his  little  slippery  laugh. 

We  heard  an  exquisite  anecdote  of  Suett  the 
other  day.  It  is  not  much  to  tell,  but  it  is  highly 
characteristic.  Suett,  it  must  be  obsen'ed,  was  both 
one  of  the  drollest  and  one  of  the  simplest  of  man- 
kind. His  relish  of  a  joke  was  infinite,  but  he  gave 
rise  to  many  a  one  unconsciously  ;  and  hung  upon  the 
world,  in  all  things,  betwixt  a  laugh  and  an  aston- 
ishment. It  was  he  that  said  when  he  was  dying, 
"  O  dear  !  O  dear  !  Bobby  going  to  die  !  Here's  a 
pretty  job  !     Was  there  ever  seen  the  like?" 

Suett  one  day  took  it  into  his  head,  gravely, 
to  teach  clercrvmen  how  to  read  the  Lord's  Praver ! 
We  forget  the  name  of  the  public  house  from  which 
his  card  of  announcement  was  addressed,  but  it  ran 
in  some  such  manner  as  the  following,  and  was  in 
perfect  good  faith  :  — 

*'  Clergymen  taught  to  read  the  Lord's  Prayer^ 

By  Robert  Suett,  Comedian. 

Address  to  the  Cat  and  Feathers^  No.  21  Drury 

Lane." 

1S31. 


360  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 


CLARENDON'S   HISTORY   OF   THE 
REBELLION. 

HAVING  been  much  interested  by  a  re-perusal 
of  Clarendon's  History  of  the  Rebellion,  I  sit 
down  to  look  through  it  again  witli  the  reader. 
My  object  is  not  to  write  a  criticism,  still  less  to  enter 
into  a  review  of  the  period  to  which  the  book  relates, 
but  simply  to  point  out  and  remark  a  little  upon  some 
of  the  most  curious  passages.  Having  felt  a  pleasure, 
I  wish  to  impart  it,  and  shall  fancy  myself  in  the 
reader's  company  as  with  a  friend. 

The  edition  I  make  use  of  is  a  foreign  one,  printed 
at  Basil,  which  is  not  likely  to  be  read  in  England  : 
so  that  I  can  only  refer  to  the  number  of  the  books 
without  noticing  the  pages. 

The  work  opens  with  an  account  of  Prince 
Charles's  romantic  journey  into  Sjoain,  and  the  way 
in  which  James  the  First  was  brought  to  consent  to  it. 
This  has  been  copied  by  Hume;  but  though  Hume 
relates  the  particulars  more  directly  relating  to  the 
journey,  such  as  the  bullying  conduct  of  Bucking- 
ham, and  the  ridiculous  lamentations  of  the  King, 
who  threw  himself  on  his  bed,  weeping  and  wailing, 
and  exclaiming  that  he  should  lose  "  Baby  Charles," 
he  has  omitted  one  or  two  passages  highly  charac- 
teristic of  the  courtiers  of  those  times.  I  observe,  by 
the  way,  that  Hume  represents  Baby  Charles  (who 
was  then  a  young  man  in  the  twenty-third  year  of  his 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  361 

agfe)  as  havinsr  tears  in  his  eves  when  his  fatlicr 
wished  him  to  give  uj)  the  journey  :  but  this  is  not 
mentioned  by  Charendon.  The  appelkition  of  Baby, 
and  the  wilful  infirmities  to  which  Royalty  is  subject, 
appear  to  have  beguiled  the  historian  of  his  usual 
precision. 

Sir  Francis  Cottington,  afterwards  Lord  Cotting- 
ton,  was  a  courtier  of  real  courage  for  that  period  ; 
vet,  see  how  he  behaves  at  an  unexpected  proposi- 
tion :  "  Cottington,"  said  James,  "  here  is  Baby 
Charles  and  Stenny  " —  (an  appellation  he  always 
used  of  and  towards  the  Duke)  —  "  who  have  a  great 
mind  to  go  by  post  to  Spain  to  fetch  home  the  In- 
fanta, and  will  have  but  two  more  in  their  company. 
What  think  you  of  the  journe}'.^"  lie  (Cottington) 
often  protested  since,  that  when  he  heard  the  King, 
he  fell  into  such  a  trembling  that  he  could  hardly 
speak.  But  when  the  King  commanded  him  to  an- 
swer him,  what  he  thought  of  the  journey,  he  replied, 
he  could  not  think  well  of  it,  &c.  —  Book  I. 

This  was  the  courage  of  a  great  courtier.  Now 
see  his  delicacy.  Cottington,  to  this  ollence  against 
the  Duke,  subsequently  added  another;  upon  which 
Buckingham,  after  his  usual  open  manner,  vowed  re- 
venge on  him.  The  courtier  applied  to  him  to  know 
whether,  by  a  proper  obsequiousness,  he  could  not  lie 
restored  to  his  Grace's  favor  ;  and  being  answered  in 
the  negative,  said,  he  at  least  hoped  that  his  Grace 
would  not  condescend  to  gain  by  his  loss;  and  so  re- 
quested him  to  return  a  set  oi  hangings  he  had  pre- 
sented to  him  "  in  hope  of  his  future  favor,"  and 
which  cost  him  eight  hundred  pounds.     The   Duke 


362  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

answered  "  he  was  right ;  "  and  the  hangings  were  re- 
stored, or  at  least  the  amount  of  their  value  ;  together 
with  some  sums  of  money,  which  Cottington  had  laid 
out,  by  his  order,  for  jewels  and  pictures.  —  Ibid. 

Cottington  appears  to  have  been  bold  enough  with 
everybody  except  his  first  master  ;  but  he  knew  his 
men,  even  when  he  was  most  daring.  He  most  likely 
ventures  to  behave  to  Buckingham  in  this  manner, 
out  of  a  confidence  that  it  was  the  safest  thing  he 
could  do  to  a  man  of  his  temper,  where  his  advances 
were  not  accejDtcd.  It  was  an  avowal  of  meanness 
and  inferiority,  as  well  as  a  compliment  to  the  other's 
spirit;  which  tended  to  put  him  at  a  pardonable  dis- 
tance from  a  lofty  but  not  ungenerous  temper.  After 
the  death  of  Buckingham,  Cottington  got  into  power. 
There  were  none  of  his  old  masters  to  overawe  him. 
He  felt  secure  of  Charles  and  his  weakness ;  and 
having  a  turn  for  drollery  as  well  as  artifice,  did  not 
scruple  to  play  a  strange  trick  upon  Laud,  whom  all 
the  lay  part  of  the  government  disliked.  It  was  so 
contrived  as  at  once  to  turn  to  their  advantage,  and 
disconcert  the  Archbishop  with  the  King.  The 
whole  of  the  story  is  worth  copying,  inasmuch  as  it 
involves  a  Naboth-vineyard  anecdote  of  Charles  the 
First  such  as  Hume  does  not  venture  to  repeat.  "  The 
King,  who  was  excessively  afiected  to  hunting  (says 
Clarendon)  and  the  sports  of  the  field,  had  a  great 
desire  to  make  a  great  park  for  red  as  well  as  fallow 
deer,  between  Richmond  and  Hampton  Court,  where 
he  had  large  wastes  of  his  own  and  great  parcels  of 
wood,  which  made  it  very  fit  for  the  use  he  designed 
it  to ;  but  as  some  parislies  had  commons  in  those 


ESSAYS   AND    SKETCHES.  363 

wastes,  so  many  gentlemen  and  farmers  had  good 
houses  and  good  farms  intermingled  with  those 
wastes,  of  their  own  inheritance,  or  for  their  lives  or 
years ;  and  without  taking  of  them  into  the  park,  it 
would  not  be  of  the  largeness,  or  for  the  use  proposed. 
His  Majesty  desired  to  purchase  those  lands,  and  was 
very  willing  to  buy  them  upon  higher  terms  than  the 
people  could  sell  them  at  to  anybody  else,  if  they  had 
occasion  to  part  with  them  ;  and  thought  it  no  un- 
reasonable thing,  upon  those  terms,  to  expect  this 
from  his  subjects ;  and  so  he  employed  his  own  sur- 
veyor and  others  of  his  officers  to  treat  with  the  own- 
ers, many  whereof  were  his  own  tenants,  whose 
farms  would  at  last  expire. 

"The  major  part  of  the  people  were  in  a  short 
time  prevailed  with,  but  many  very  obstinateI\-  re- 
fused ;  and  a  gentleman  who  had  the  best  estate,  with 
a  convenient  house  and  gardens,  would  by  no  means 
part  with  it;  and  the  King  being  as  earnest  to  com- 
pass it,  it  made  a  great  noise,  as  if  the  King  would 
take  away  men's  estates  at  his  own  pleasure."  [As 
if  he  would  not !  What  else  was  it  that  he  desired  to 
do.'']  "The  Bishop  of  London,  who  was  Treas- 
urer, and  the  Lord  Cottington,  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer, were,  iVom  the  fust  entering  upon  it,  very 
averse  from  the  design  ;  not  only  for  the  murmur  of 
the  people,  but  because  the  purchase  of  the  land,  and 
the  making  a  brick  wall  about  so  large  a  parcel  of 
ground  (for  it  is  near  ten  miles  about),  would  cost  a 
greater  sum  of  money  than  they  could  easily  provide, 
or  they  thought  ought  to  be  sacrificed  on  sucii  an  oc- 
casion ;  and  the  Lord  Cottington  (who  was  more  so- 


364  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

licitcd  by  the  country  people,  and  heard  most  of  their 
murmurs)  took  the  business  most  to  heart,  and  en- 
deavored by  all  the  ways  he  could,  and  by  frequent 
importunities,  to  divert  his  Majesty  from  pursuing  it, 
and  put  all  delays  he  well  could  do  in  the  bargains 
which  were  to  be  made,  till  the  King  grew  very  angry 
with  him,  and  told  him  he  was  resolved  to  go  through 
with  it,  and  had  already  caused  brick  to  be  burned, 
and  much  of  the  wall  to  be  built  on  his  own  land. 
Upon  which  Cottington  thought  fit  to  acquiesce. 

"  The  building  of  the  wall  before  the  people  con- 
sented to  part  with  their  land,  or  their  common, 
looked  to  them  as  if  by  degrees  they  should  be  shut 
out  from  both,  and  increased  the  murmur  and  noise 
of  the  people  who  were  not  concerned,  as  well  as  of 
them  who  were  ;  and  it  was  too  near  London  not  to 
be  the  common  discourse.  The  Archbishop  (who 
desired  exceedingly  that  the  King  should  be  possessed 
as  much  of  the  hearts  of  the  people  as  was  possible, 
at  least  that  they  should  have  no  just  cause  to  com- 
plain), meeting  with  it,  resolved  to  speak  to  the  King 
of  it ;  which  he  did  ;  and  received  such  an  answer 
from  him,  that  he  thought  his  Majesty  rather  not  in- 
formed enough  of  the  inconveniences  and  mischiefs  of 
the  thing,  then  positively  resolved  not  to  desist  from 
it.  Whereupon,  one  day  he  took  the  Lord  Cottington 
aside  (being  informed  that  he  disliked  it),  and,  ac- 
cording to  his  natural  custom,  spoke  with  great 
warmth  against  it,  and  told  him,  'he  should  do  very 
well  to  give  the  King  good  counsel,  and  withdraw 
him  from  a  resolution  in  which  his  honor  and  jus- 
tice were   so   much  called  in  question.'      Cottington 


ESSAYS   AND   SKETCHES.  365 

answered  him  very  gravely, '  that  the  thing  designed 
was  very  lawful,  and  he  thought  the  King  resolved 
very  well,  since  the  place  lay  so  conveniently  for  his 
winter  exercise  ;  and  that  he  should  by  it  not  be  com- 
pelled to  make  so  long  journeys  as  he  used  to  do  in 
that  season  of  the  year  for  his  sport ;  a'nd  that  nobody 
ought  to  dissuade  him  from  it.' 

"  The  Archbishop,  instead  of  finding  a  concurrence 
from  him,  as  he  expected,  seeing  himself  reproached 
upon  the  matter  for  his  opinion,  grew  into  much  pas- 
sion, telling  him,  'Such  men  as  he  would  ruin  the 
KinfT,  and  make  him  lose  the  allections  of  his  sub- 
jects ;  that,  for  his  own  part,  as  he  had  begun,  so  he 
would  go  on,  to  persuade  the  King  from  proceeding 
in  so  ill  a  counsel ;  and  that  he  hoped  it  would  appear 
who  had  been  his  counsellor.'  Cottington,  glad  to 
see  him  so  soon  hot,  and  resolved  to  inflame  him 
more,  very  calmly  replied  to  him,  '  that  he  tliought 
a  man  could  not,  with  a  good  conscience,  hinder  tiie 
King  from  pursuing  his  resolutions  ;  and  that  it  could 
not  but  proceed  from  want  of  afleclion  to  his  person  ; 
and  tliat  he  was  not  sure  that  it  niii^ht  not  be  high 
treason.'  The  other,  upon  tlie  wildness  of  his  dis- 
course, in  great  anger  asked  iiim,  'Why?  from 
whence  had  lie  received  that  doctrine?'  lie  said, 
with  the  same  temper,  'They  who  did  not  wish  the 
King's  hcaltii,  could  not  love  him  ;  and  they  who 
went  about  to  hinder  his  taking  recreation  whicii 
preserved  his  liealth,  might  be  thought,  for  aught  he 
knew,  guilty  of  tlie  higiiest  crimes.*  Upon  which 
the  Archbishop,  in  great  rage  and  with  many  re- 
proaches, left  him  ;  and  either  presently,  or  upon  the 


366  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

next  opportunity,  told  the  King,  '  tliat  he  now  knew 
who  was  his  great  counsellor  lor  making  the  park  ; 
and  that  he  did  not  wonder  that  men  durst  not  repre- 
sent any  argimients  to  the  contrary,  or  let  his  Majesty 
know  how  much  he  suflered  in  it,  when  such  prin- 
ciples in  divinity  and  law  were  laid  down  to  terrify 
them,'  and  so  recounted  the  conference  he  had  with 
the  Lord  Cottington,  bitterly  inveighing  against  him 
and  his  doctrines,  mentioning  him  with  all  the  sharp 
reproaches  imaginable,  and  beseeching  his  Majesty 
'  that  his  counsel  might  not  prevail  with  him  ; '  tak- 
ing some  pains  to  make  his  conclusions  appear  very 
false  and  ridiculous. 

"  The  King  said  no  more  than  but, '  My  Lord,  you 
are  deceived  :  Cottington  is  too  hard  for  you.  Upon 
my  word,  he  hath  not  only  dissuaded  me  more,  and 
given  more  reason  against  this  business  than  all  the 
men  in  England  have  done,  but  hath  really  obstructed 
the  work,  by  not  doing  his  duty  as  I  commanded  him, 
for  which  I  have  been  very  much  displeased  with 
him.  You  see  how  unjustly  your  passion  hath  trans- 
ported you.'  By  which  reprehension  he  found  how 
much  he  had  been  abused,  and  resented  it  accord- 
ingly." —  Ibid. 

Hume  ought  not  to  have  omitted  this  story.  Every- 
thing connected  with  it  deserves  attention.  In  the 
first  place,  even  Clarendon  has  thought  proper  to  tell 
it,  though  he  contrives  to  divide  the  interest  as  miich 
as  possible  with  Cottington's  humor.  This  is  a  proof 
how  much  noise  it  must  have  made  ;  and  how  dif- 
ficult the  author  found  it,  in  that  age,  to  leave  it  out 
of  his   history.     The   noise,  indeed,  is   evident   from 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  367 

every  part  of  it ;  and  what  is  remarkable,  the  cour- 
tiers agreed  with  the  people.  The  design  was  not 
only  unjust  to  others  ;  it  was  inconvenient  to  them- 
selves. The  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  was  puz- 
zled for  money  for  it.  Laud,  who  had  the  direction 
of  the  King's  conscience,  and  was  already  disliked  by 
all  classes  for  his  arbitrary  principles,  was  afraid  he 
should  be  thought  to  encourage  it.  Something  also 
is  to  be  allowed  him  on  the  score  of  scandal  to  the 
Bible.  Here  was  the  scene  of  Naboth's  vineyard  re- 
opened. The  Archbishop  finds  himself  in  the  sit- 
uation of  Nathan.  Cottington  hates  him  for  his 
officiousness,  perhaps  envies  him  the  chance  of  turn- 
ing the  King's  intentions  ;  and  the  King  first  leaves 
him  to  suppose  that  he  had  not  made  up  his  mind, 
and  afterwards  is  not  sorry  to  have  an  opportunity  of 
rebuking  him.  His  Majesty  had  been  comjoelled,  no 
doubt,  to  take  to  himself  much  of  the  reproach 
which  the  Prelate,  in  the  course  of  his  wrath,  had 
vented  against  the  supposed  adviser.  Finally,  the 
project  appears  to  have  been  obstinately  gone  through 
witii,  and  there  is  no  knowing  how  much  of  tiie  sub- 
sequent bitterness  between  the  King  and  his  subjects, 
how  much  of  the  general  intlignation,  or  of  the  vin- 
dictivcncss  and  apparent  cruelty  of  individuals,  may 
have  been  owing  to  this^ingle  circumstance. 

Of  this    Lord    Cottington,   who  was    an    amusing 
person,  the  reader  shall  have  all   that  remains  to  be 
•told.      He  followed  the  fortunes  of  Charles  the  Second 
jduring  the  civil  wars;  and   in  jjroportion  as  tlie  Stu- 
arts grew  weak,  appears  to  have  become  more  imjiu- 
dent  and  entertaining.    The  King,  in  his  exile,  alarmed 


368  .  THE    WISIIING-CAP    PAPERS. 

his  court  by  an  intention  to  make  Colonel  Windham 
Secretary  of  State ;  "  an  honest  gentleman,"  says 
Clarendon,  "whose  best  pretension  to  the  office  was 
that  his  wife  had  been  his  Majesty's  nurse." — "One 
day,  the  Lord  Cottington,  when  the  Chancellor  (Clar- 
endon himself)  and  some  others  were  present,  told 
the  King,  very  gravely  (according  to  his  custom, 
who  never  smiled  when  he  made  others  merry), 
'  that  he  had  a  humble  suit  to  him  on  behalf  of  ;in  old 
servant  of  his  father;  and  whom  he  assured  him  upon 
his  knowledge,  his  father  loved  as  well  as  he  did  any 
man  of  that  condition  ;  and  that  he  had  been  many 
years  one  of  his  falconers  in  England:'  and  there- 
upon enlarged  himself  (as  he  could  do  ver}'  well,  in 
all  the  terms  of  that  science),  to  sliow  how  very  skil- 
ful he  was  in  that  art.  The  King  asked  him  '  what 
he  would  have  done  for  him?'  Cottington  told  him 
'  it  was  very  true  that  his  Majesty  kept  no  falconers,  and 
the  poor  man  was  grown  old,  and  could  not  ride  as 
he  used  to  do  ;  but  that  he  was  a  very  honest  man, 
and  could  read  ver}'  well,  and  had  as  audible  a  voice 
as  any  man  need  to  have  ;  and  therefore  besought  his 
Majesty,  that  he  would  make  him  his  Chaplain;' 
which,  speaking  with  so  composed  a  countenance, 
and  somewhat  of  earnestness,  the  King  looked  upon 
him  with  a  smile  to  know  what  he  meant;  when  he, 
with  the  same  gravity,  assured  him  the  'falconer 
was  in  all  respects  as  fit  to  be  his  Chaplain  as  Col- 
onel Windham  was  to  be  Secretary  of  State  ; '  which 
so  surprised  the  King,  who  had  never  spoken  to  him 
of  the  matter,  all  that  were  present  not  being  able  to 
abstain  from  laughing,  that  his  Majesty  was  somewhat 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  309 

out  of  countenance;  and  this  being  merrily  told  by 
some  of  the  standers-b}',  it  grew  to  be  a  story  in  all 
companies,  and  did  readily  divert  the  King  from  the 
purpose,  and  made  the  other  so  much  ashamed  of 
pretending  to  it,  that  there  was  no  more  discourse  of 
xr  —Book  XII. 

Cottington  was  of  a  Roman  Catholic  family.  When 
he  was  in  Spain  on  a  former  occasion,  he  was  recon- 
ciled to  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  went  regularly  to 
mass  ;  but  on  his  return  to  England,  he  resumed  his 
misconformity  with  the  Protestants.  It  was  con- 
venient to  his  views  of  office.  During  the  exile  of 
Charles  the  Second  he  and  Clarendon  were  sent  by 
that  prince  in  an  embassy  to  the  King  of  Spain,  and 
Cottington,  now  aged  and  gouty,  took  the  opportunity 
of  "patching  up  his  old  body  for  heaven,"  and  dying 
in  the  family  faitii. 

He  died  not  long  after,  at  Valladolid,  where  he  had 
taken  up  his  abode  for  the  remainder  of  his  days. 
"  He  was  a  very  ivise  inatt"  says  Clarendon,  '•  by 
the  great  and  long  experience  he  had  in  business  of 
all  kinds,  and  by  his  natural  temper,  which  was  not 
liable  to  any  transport  of  anger,  or  any  other  passion, 
but  coulil  bear  ccjntradiction,  and  even  reproach, 
without  being  moved  or  put  oul  of  \\\^  way  ;  for  he 
was  very  steady  in  pursuing  what  he  proposed  to 
himself,  and  had  courage  not  to  be  frightened  with 
any  o|)positi(jn.  It  is  true,  he  was  illiterate  as  to  the 
grammar  of  any  language,  or  the  principle  of  any 
science ;  but  by  his  perl'ect  understanding  of  llie 
Spanisii  (which  bespoke  as  a  Spaniard),  tiie  French, 
and  Italian  languages,  and  having  read  very  much  of 
24 


37©  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

them,  lie  could  not  be  said  to  be  ignorant  in  any  part 
of  learning,  divinity  only  excepted.  He  had  a  fine 
and  extraordinary  understanding  in  the  nature  of 
beasts  and  birds,  aad  above  all  in  all  kinds  of  planta- 
tions, and  arts  of  husbandry.  He  was  born  a  gentleman 
both  by  his  father  and  mother,  his  father  having  a 
pretty  entire  seat  near  Breton  in  Somersetshire,  worth 
above  two  hundred  pounds  a  year,  which  had  de- 
scended from  father  to  son  for  many  hundred  years, 
and  is  still  in  possession  of  his  elder  brother's  chil- 
dren, the  family  having  been  always  Roman  Cath- 
olics. His  motlier  was  a  Stafford,  nearly  allied  to 
Sir  Edward  Stafford,  who  was  Vice-Chamberlain  to 
Queen  Elizabeth,  and  had  been  Ambassador  in 
France;  by  whom  this  gentleman  was  brought  up, 
and  was  gentleman  of  his  horse,  and  left  one  of  his 
executors  of  his  will,  and  b}^  him  recommended  Sir 
Robert  Cecil,  Secretary  of  State  ;  who  preferred  him 
to  Sir  Charles  Cornwallis,  when  he  went  Ambassador 
into  Spain,  in  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  King 
James ;  where  he  remained  for  the  space  of  eleven 
or  twelve  years,  in  the  condition  of  Secretary  or 
Agent,  without  ever  returning  into  England  in  ail 
that  time.  He  made  by  his  own  virtue  and  industry 
a  pretty  fair  estate,  of  which,  though  the  revenue  did 
not  exceed  above  four  thousand  pounds  by  the  year, 
yet  he  had  four  very  good  houses,  and  three  parks, 
the  value  of  which  was  not  reckoned  into  that  com- 
putation. He  lived  very  nobly,  well  served  and  at- 
tended in  his  house  ;  had  a  better  stable  for  horses, 
better  provisions  for  sports  (especially  of  hawks,  in 
which  he  took  great  delight),  than  most  of  his  quality, 


ESSAYS   AND    SKETCHES.  371 

and  lived  always  with  great  splendor;  for  though  he 
loved  money  very  well,  and  did  not  vjarily  enough 
co7isider  the  circunisiances  of  getting  it,  he  spent  it 
well  all  ways  but  in  giving;  which  he  did  not  affect. 
He  was  of  an  excellent  humor,  and  verj-  easy  to  live 
with  ;  and  under  a  grave  countenance  covered  the 
most  of  mirth,  and  caused  more  than  any  man  of  the 
most  pleasant  disposition.  lie  never  used  anybody 
ill ;  but  used  many  very  well  for  whom  he  had  no  re- 
gard. His  greatest  fault  was,  that  he  could  dissemble 
and  make  men  believe  that  he  loved  them  very  well, 
when  he  cared  not  for  them,  lie  liad  not  very  tender 
aflections,.nor  bowels  apt  to  yearn  at  all  objects  which 
deserved  compassion.  He  was  heartily  tired  of  the 
world,  and  no  man  was  more  willing  to  die  ;  which 
is  an  argument  that  he  had  peace  of  his  conscience. 
He  left  behind  liiin  a  greater  esteem  of  his  parts,  tlian 
love' to  his  person."  —  Book  XII J. 

This  is  a  portrait  of  a  clever,  selfish,  entertaining 
man  of  the  world,  whose  success,  after  all,  is  a  poor 
business.  B)'  his  own  knavery  and  folly  to  boot 
(for  this  "virtuous"  money-getter,  and  "very  wise 
man,"  was  evidently  not  without  both  in  their  way), 
he  gels  rid  of  his  good  opinion  of  cHlicr  men,  and 
liis  real  rehsh  of  life;  eats  and  drinks  himself  into  a 
good  tormenting  gout ;  and  before  he  dies,  is  heartily 
weary  of  the  world.  His  "peace  of  con'science " 
(which  he  had  a  perfect  right  to,  considering  the  way 
he  was  brought  up)  means  that  he  had  little  or  no 
conscience  of  any  sort  ;  and  what  little  he  had,  he 
satisfies,  by  reposing  it  "  in  the  bosom  of  an  infalli- 
ble   church,"  who,  it    must   be    confessed,  owes    her 


372  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPEUS. 

children  a  good  deal  of  indulgence,  in  return  for  the 
pains  she  takes  to  spoil  them.* 

The  wisdom  and  virtue  of  this  courtier  appear  to 
have  done  little  good  to  the  character  of  his  brother 
Ambassador. 

Of  the  Earl  of  Arundel,  who  was  sent  by  Charles 
against  the  Scots  at  the  beginning  of  the  troubles. 
Clarendon  gives  the  following  pithy  character:  "  He 
did  not  love  the  Scots,  he  did  not  love  the  Puri- 
tans;  which  qualifications  were  much  allayed  by  an- 
other negative  ;  he  did  not  much  love  anybody  else." 
—  Book  II.  Perhaps  the  author  might  have  added 
something  like  what  a  friend  of  ours  introduced  at 
the  end  of  a  simiUy  character  drawn  of  a  modern 
poet:  —  "Pie  did  not  like  ?;z^."  Arundel,  though  a 
court  officer,  was  of  a  dillcrent  way  of  thinking  from 
Hyde  on  many  points,  and  had  probably  crossed  him 
with  some  of  his  stately  manners.  A  good  deal  of 
personal  pique  is  evident  here  and  there  in  the  writ- 
ings of  tln"s  statesman.  Hume  speaks  ill  of  Arun- 
del's talents.     He  seems  to  have  been  a  selfish  man, 


*  Here  is  Fuller's  character  of  Cottington. 

"SirP'rancis  Coilington,  Knight,  was  born  nigh  Mere,  in  this  county  [W'''- 

shire],  and   bred,  when   a  youth,  under   Sir Stafford.     He  lived  so  long  in 

Spain,  till  he  made  the  garb  and  gravity  of  that  nation  become  his,  and  became 
him.  He  raised  himself  by  his  natural  strength,  without  any  artificial  advan- 
tage :  having  his  parts  above  his  learning,  his  exjjerience,  and  (some  will  say)  his 
success  above  all  :  so  that  at  the  last  he  became  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer, 
baron  of  Hanworth  in  Middlesex,  and  (upon  the  resignation  of  Doctor  Juxon) 
Lord  Treasurer  of  England,  gaining  also  a  very  great  estate.  But  what  he  got  in 
a  few  years  he  lost  in  fewer  days,  since  our  civil  wars,  when  the  Parliament  was 
pleased  (for  reasons  only  known  to  themselves)  to  make  him  one  of  the  ex- 
amples of  their  severity,  excluding  him  pardon,  but  permitting  h's  departure 
beyond  the  seas,  where  he  died  about  the  year  1650." — The  Worthies  of  Eng- 
land, Nuttall's  Ed.,  vol.  3,  p.  3>9. —  Ed. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  373 

for  he  withdrew  from  the  troubles,  and  lived  and  died 
in  Italy.  He  was  the  possessor  of  the  marbles  known 
under  his  name. 

The  following  anecdote  of  Windebank,  Secretary 
of  State,  a  favorer  of  the  Papists,  would  have  shone 
in  Bandello  :  "I  remember,"  says  Clarendon,  "  one 
story  brought  into  the  house  concerning  him,  that  ad- 
ministered some  mirth.  A  messenger  (I  think  his 
name  was  Newton),  who  principally  attended  the  ser- 
vice of  apprehending  priests,  came  one  day  to  him  in 
his  garden,  and  told  him  that  he  liad  brought  with  him 
a  priest,  a  stirring  and  active  person,  whom  he  had 
apprehended  that  morning ;  and  desired  to  know  to 
what  prison  he  should  carry  him.  The  Secretary 
sharply  asked  him  whether  he  would  never  give  over 
this  bloodthirsty  humor.?  and  in  great  anger  calling 
him  a  knave,  and  taking  the  warrant  from  him  by 
which  lie  had  apprclientled  him,  departed  without  giv- 
ing any  otiier  direction.  Tiie  messenger,  appalled, 
thought  the  priest  was  some  person  in  favor,  and 
therefore  took  no  more  care  of  him,  but  suflered  him 
to  depart.  The  priest,  freed  from  this  fright,  went 
securely  to  iiis  lodgings,  and  within  two  or  tiuee  days 
was  arrested  for  debt,  and  carried  in  execution  to 
prison.  Shortly  after  Secretary  Windebank  sent  f(M- 
the  messcnifcr,  and  askc<l  him  '  what  was  become 
of  the  priest  he  had  at  such  a  time  brought  before 
him."*'  He  l(jld  liim, 'that  he  conceived  his  Honor 
was  oll'ended  with  tlic  apprehension  of  him,  and 
tijercfore  he  had  looked  no  farther  aflc-r  him.'  The 
Secretary,  in  mucii  passion,  told  him  '  the  dischar- 
ging a  priest  was  no  liglit  matter,  and  that  if  he  speed- 


374  '^"E    W.SHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

ily  found  him  not,  he  should  answer  the  default  with 
his  life  ;  that  the  priest  was  a  dangerous  fellow,  and 
must  not  escape  in  that  fashion.'  The  messenger, 
besides  his  natural  inclination  to  that  exercise,  terri- 
fied with  these  threats,  left  no  means  untried  for  the 
discovery,  and  at  last  heard  where  the  man  was  in  ex- 
ecution in  prison  ;  thither  he  went  and  demanded  the 
priest  (who  was  not  there  known  to  be  such)  as  his 
prisoner  formerly,  and  escaped  from  him ;  and  by 
virtue  of  his  first  warrant  took  him  again  into  cus- 
tody, and  immediately  carried  him  to  the  Secretary  ; 
and  within  a  few  days  after  the  priest  was  discharged, 
and  at  liberty.  The  jailer,  in  whose  custody  he  had 
been  put  for  debt,  was  arrested  by  the  parties  grieved, 
and  he  again  sued  the  messenger,  who  appealed  for 
justice  to  the  House  of  Commons  against  the  Secre- 
tary." —  Book  III. 

From  this  and  other  charges,  VVindebank  fled  the 
kingdom.     lie  was  a  creature  of  Laud's. 

How     TO     BE      PREVAILED      UPON     TO     ERADICATE 

Bishops.  — The  House  prepared  a  very  sliort  bill  "  for 
the  utter  eradication  of  Bishops,  Deans,  and  Chap- 
ters;  with  all  Chancellors,  and  officials,  and  all  of- 
ficers, and  other  persons  belonging  to  either  of  them  ;  " 
which  they  prevailed  Sir  Edward  Deering,  a  man 
very  oiDposite  to  all  their  designs  (but  a  man  of  levity 
and  vanity,  easily  flattered  by  being  commended),  to 
present  into  the  House  ;  whicii  he  did  from  the  gal- 
lery, with  the  two  verses  in  Ovid,  the  application 
whereof  was  his  greatest  motiva :  " — 

"  Cuncta  prius  tentanda ;  seel  immedicabile  vulnus 
Ense  rocidendum  est,  ne  pars  sincera  trahatur." 


ESSAYS    AXD    SKETCHES.  375 

[I  tried  whatever  in  the  godhead  lay  ; 

But  gansrened  members  must  be  lopt  away, 

Before  the  nobler  parts  are  tainted  to  decay. —  Dryden.] 

A  good  thing  was  said  of  this  upon  a  bill  by  Lord 
Falkland :  "  It  was  so  late  every  day  before  the 
House  was  resumed  (the  Speaker  commonly  leaving 
the  chair  about  nine  of  the  clock,  and  never  resuming 
ittillfour  in  the  afternoon),  that  it  was  very  thin; 
they  only  who  prosecuted  the  bill  with  impatience 
remaining  in  the  House,  and  the  others  who  abhorred 
it,  growing  weary  of  so  tiresome  an  attendance,  left 
the  House  at  dinner-time,  and  afterwards  followed 
their  pleasures :  so  that  the  Lord  Falkland  was  wont 
to  say,  '  that  they  who  hated  the  Bishops,  hated  them 
worse  than  the  Devil ;  and  that  they  who  loved  them, 
did  not  love  them  so  well  as  their  dinner.'" — Ibid: 
This  is  true.  But  how  should  tlicy?  The  dinner 
was  the  more  Episcopalian  thing  of  the  two. 

Montrose.  —  Clarendon  says,  that  when  the  King 
arrived  in  Scotland,  Montrose  came  privately  to  him, 
and  informed  him.  among  other  particulars,  "  that  the 
Marquis  of  Hamilton  was  no  lest  faulty  and  false  to- 
wards his  Majesty  than  Argyle  ;  and  olVered  to  make 
proof  of  all  in  the  Parliament;  but  rather  desired  to 
have  them  bolli  made  away  ; "  which  he  frankly 
otlered  to  do  ;  but  the  King,  abhorring  that  expedient, 
though  for  his  own  security,  advised  '"  that  the  proofs 
might  be  prepared  for  Parliament." — Book  IV\  Tlie 
following  is  a  note  of  Hume's  upon  this  passage,  ap- 
pended to  the  58th  chapter  of  his  History:  "It  is 
not  improper  to  take  notice  of  a  mistake  committed 


376  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS, 

by  Clarendon,  much  to  the  disadvantage  of  this  gallant 
nobleman  ;  that  he  offered  the  King,  when  his  Majesty 
was  in  Scotland,  to  assassinate  Argyle.  At  the  time 
the  King  was  in  Scotland,  Alontrose  was  conluied  to 
prison."  He  refers  for  his  authority  to  Ruslivvorth, 
Vol.  VI.,  p.  9S0.  Montrose's  imprisonment,  however, 
does  not  refute  the  charge  of  his  having  made  the 
offer.  It  only  j^rovcs  that  he  could  not  have  made  it 
in  person.  Besides,  Clarendon  does  not  say  that  he 
offered  to  assassinate  Argyle,  but  to  have  him  as- 
sassinated. The  additional  words,  '"which  he  frank- 
ly offered  to  do,"  might  indeed  be  construed  other- 
wise;  but  not  with  probability,  especially  after  so 
direct  a  mention  of  the  offer,  enforced  upon  the  read- 
er by  marks  of  quotation.  It  is  observable  that 
•Clarendon  carefully  makes  use  of  these  marks  when- 
ever he  repeats  the  observations  of  another.  Though 
Montrose  was  imprisoned  at  that  time,  he  was  of  an 
active  disposition,  and  might  have  conveyed  the  offer 
by  another  person.  Even  if  Clarendon  represented 
him  as  undertaking  to  be  the  assassin  himself,  the 
time  of  his  liberation  might  have  been  contemplated  ; 
and  the  manners  of  those  enraged  and  vindictive 
times  offer  notliing  very  considerable  against  the  like- 
lihood of  such  a  proposal ;  Clarendon,  for  one,  clearly 
believed  in  it,  or  he  would  hardly  have  mentioned  the 
proposal  without  expressing  astonishment.  At  the 
same  time  it  should  be  mentioned,  that  Clarendon 
was  no  friend  to  the  Marquis's  person,  though  he 
joined  in  commending  his  exploits.  He  appears  to 
have  been  jealous  of  him  ;  at  least  to  have  been  mor- 
tified that  Montrose  did  not  pay  more  deference  to  his 


ESSAYS   AND    SKETCHES.  377 

opinion.  See  Book  XII. ,  where  they  have  an  inter- 
view near  the  Hague.  The  best  argument  in  Mon- 
trose's favor  might  be  drawn  from  his  bravery,  and 
his  open,  defying  nature  ;  and  yet  very  brave  men  in 
those  times  could  condescend  to  be  assassins;  and 
Montrose,  with  all  his  gallantry,  could  play  a  tricking 
and  King  part.  There  were  fanatics  on  all  sides,  and 
of  all  descriptions ;  fanatics,  too,  in  petty  personal 
feuds  as  well  as  in  great  party  matters.  Sir  Walter 
Scott  has  done  his  best  to  render  Montrose  a  hero  of 
romance ;  and  a  very  good  one  he  is,  as  far  as  valor 
and  military  conduct  can  make  him  ;  but  he  is  much 
filter  to  be  the  hero  of  a  modern  Scotch  ultra  than 
of  an  English  gentleman  at  any  time.  Hume,  him- 
self a  Scotchman  and  a  Tory  (though  his  philosophy 
and  cool  temperament  relieved  him  from  many  of 
the  absurdities  connected  with  both  of  those  watch- 
words), was  inclined  enough  to  like  Montrose  and 
his  party,  and  yet  hear  how  he  begins  his  own  ac- 
count of  the  Marquis's  history:  — 

"•  Before  the  commencement  of  these  civil  disorders, 
the  Earl  of  Montrose,  a  young  nobleman  of  a  distin- 
guisiied  family,  returning  from  iiis  travels,  had  Ijeen 
introduced  to  the  King,  and  had  made  an  oiler  of  his 
services;  but  by  the  insinuations  of  the  Marquis, 
afterwards  Duke  of  Hamilton,  who  possessed  much 
of  Charlch's  confidence,  iie  iuui  not  l)een  received  wilh 
that  distinction  to  which  lie  thought  himself  justly 
entitled.  Disgusted  with  this  treatment,  he  had  for- 
warded all  the  violence  of  the  Covenanters  ;  and  agree- 
ably to  the  natural  ardor  of  his  genius,  he  had  em- 
ployed himself,  during  the  first  Scottish  insurrection, 


378  THE    WISlilNG-CAP    PAPERS. 

with  great  zeal,  as  well  as  success,  in  levying  and  con- 
ducting their  armies.  Being  commissioned  by  the 
Tables  to  wait  upon  the  King,  while  the  royal  army 
lay  at  Beiwick,  he  was  so  gained  by  the  civilities  and 
caresses  of  that  monarch,  that  he  thenceforth  devoted 
himself  entirely,  though  secretly,  to  his  service,  and 
entered  into  a  close  correspondence  with  him.  In 
the  second  insurrection,  a  great  military  command 
was  intrusted  to  him  by  the  Covenanters ;  and  he 
was  the  first  that  passed  the  Tweed,  at  the  head  of 
their  troops,  in  the  invasion  of  England.  He  found 
means,  however,  soon  after  to  convey  a  letter  to  the 
King  :  and  by  the  infidelity  of  some  about  that  Prince 
—  Hamilton,  as  was  suspected  —  a  copy  of  this  letter 
was  sent  to  Leven,  the  Scottish  general.  Being  ac- 
cused of  treachery  and  a  correspondence  with  the 
enemy,  Montrose  openly  avowed  the  letter,  and  asked 
the  generals,  if  they  dared  to  call  their  sovereign  an 
enemy :  and  by  this  bold  and  magnanimous  be- 
havior, he  escaped  the  danger  of  an  immediate 
prosecution.  As  he  was  now  fully  known  to  be  of 
the  royal  i^arty,  he  no  longer  concealed  his  princi- 
ples ;  and  he  endeavored  to  draw  those  who  had 
entertained  like  sentiments  into  a  bond  of  association 
for  his  master's  service.  Though  thrown  into  prison 
for  this  enterprise,  and  detained  some  time,  he  was 
not  discouraged ;  but  still  continued,  by  his  coun- 
tenance and  protection,  to  infuse  spirit  into  the  dis- 
tressed royalists." 

Let  justice  be  done  to  Montrose,  and  to  everybody  : 
but  that  it  may  be  done  to  everybody,  let  us  take  care 
how  we  allow  the  most  interested  misrepresentations 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  379 

of  history  to  pass  without  notice,  especially  in  these 
times.  The  servile  have  a  sufficient  re-action  in  their 
favor,  from  the  events  of  the  world,  without  being 
under  the  necessity  of  receiving  further  encourage- 
ment. 

Parliament  Hours.  —  The  old  Parliament  hours 
were  from  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  twelve  at 
noon.     Afterwards,  during  the  disputes  of  the  House 
with  Charles,  Clarendon  mentions  a  debate  that  lasted 
till  after  nine  o'clock  at  night,  which,  he  says,  was  the 
latest  ever  known,  except  that  upon  the  Remonstrance. 
In  his  Life,  an  account  is  given  of  a  bill,  in  which  the 
Duke   of  Buckingham    took   so   much   interest,  that, 
"  contrary  to  his  custom  of  coming  into  the  House, 
indeed  of  not  rising  till  eleven  of  the  clock,  and  sel- 
dom staying  above  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  except  upon 
some  aftliirs  which  he  concerned  himself  in,  he  was 
now  always  present  with  the    first    in  the   morning, 
and  staid  till  tiie    last  at  niglit,  for  the  debate  often 
held  from  the  morning  till  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, and  sometimes  till  candles  were   brought  in." 
It  was  thought  late  to  meet  at  ten.      "It  is  hard   to 
tell,"  says  Hume,  in  a  note  on  the  reign  of  Elizabeth, 
♦•  wiiy,  all  over  the  world,  as  the  age  becomes  more 
luxurifuis,  tiie   iiours   become  later.     Is  it  tlie  crowd 
of  amusements  that  push  on  the  hours  gradually?  or 
are    the    people    of  fashion    better   pleased  with   tiie 
secrecy  and  silence  of  nocturnal  hours,  when  the  in- 
dustrious vulgar  are  all  gone  to  rest .''     In   ruAc  ages, 
men   have  few  amusements  or  occupations  l)ut  wliat 
daylight    atlbrds    them."       These    are    undoubtedly 


^So  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

amoivjj  tlic  causes;  but  the  progress  of  commerce 
should  be  added.  In  proportion  as  traders  and  mer- 
chants become  of  importance,  their  hours  must  he 
considered ;  and  they  Hke  to  have  as  many  of  these 
as  possible  at  a  time.  The  rakes  of  Charles  the 
Second's  time,  and  the  ricli  merchants  of  the  ensuing 
reigns,  became  alike  the  encouragcrs  of  late  hours  ; 
and  fashion  compelled  what  such  opposite  causes  had 
begun.  Parliaments  now  are  in  the  habit  of  sitting 
up  all  night,  and  much  worse  they  are  for  it.  Their 
heads  are  muddled  with  wine  ;  another  line  of  sepa- 
ration is  drawn  between  them  and  the  people  ;  and 
the  spirit  of  dissipation,  of  fashion,  and  of  money- 
getting,  alike  conspire  to  render  them  sorrj-  guardians 
of  public  liberty.  The  true  spirit  of  a  House  of 
Commons  is  now  to  be  found  in  a  few  members  in- 
side, and  those  who  canvass  their  actions  out  of  doors. 
The  great  diffusion  of  knowledge  and  inquiry  has 
rendered  the  represented  superior  to  their  represen- 
tatives. Consider  even  the  bodily  vigor,  the  johysical 
manliness  of  the  old  Parliament  men  who  procured 
us  our  liberties,  and  then  sec  what  a  poor  set  of  shat- 
tered men  of  the  world  we  ha\  e  now  for  their  suc- 
cessors, body  as  well  as  mind.  And  these  two  things 
are  very  apt  to  go  together  in  men  of  public  action, 
whether  for  good  or  evil.  A  solitary  student  who 
does  his  best,  may  have  something  to  say  in  behalf  of 
his  infirmities;  but  how  are  a  parcel  of  drinking, 
gambling,  nervous,  and  gouty  men  to  wage  war 
with  corruption  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.* 

*  Addison  hns  an  amusing  little  paper  on  late  hours,  in  the  Talle'.      "  It  is 
very  plain,"  he  says,  "that  the  night  was  much  longer  formerly  in  this  island 


ESSAVS    AND    SKETCHES.  38 1 

Notions  of  Regal  Propertv.  —  The  King  asks 
(Book  V.)  "■  what  title  any  subject  of  his  kingdom  had 
to  his  house  and  land,  that  he  had  not  to  his  town  of 
Hull."  Compare  this  with  the  story  of  the  house 
and  grounds  which  he  forced  a  man  to  part  with,  and 
then  read  the  following  passage  from  our  author's 
own  pen :  — 

•'  A  man  shall  not  unprofitably  spend  his  contem- 
plation, that,  upon  this  occasion,  considers  the  method 
of  God's  justice  (a  method  terribly  remarkable  in 
many  passages  and  upon  many  persons,  which  we 
shall  be  compelled  to  remember  in  this  discourse), 
that  the  same  principles,  and  the  same  application  of 
those  principles,  should  be  used  to  wresting  all  sov- 
ereign power  from  the  crown,  which  the  crown  had  a 
little  before  made  use  of  for  extending  its  authority 
and  power  beyond  its  bounds,  to  the  prejudice  of  the 
just  rights  of  the  subject.  A  supposed  necessity  was 
then  thought  ground  enough  to  create  a  power,  and  a 
bare  averment  of  lliat  necessity,  to  beget  a  practice. 


than  it  is  at  present.  By  thcniRht.  I  mcnn  that  portion  of  time  which  nature 
has  thrown  into  darkness,  and  which  the  wisdom  of  mankind  had  formerly  dedi- 
cated to  rest  and  silence.  This  used  to  begin  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
and  loiicludc  at  six  in  the  morninK-  The  curfew,  or  eight  o'clock  bell,  was  the 
signal  throughout  the  nation  for  putting  out  their  candles,  .md  going  to  bed. 

"Our  grandmothers,  tliough  ihcy  were  wont  to  sit  up  the  last  in  the  family, 
were  all  of  them  fast  asleep  at  the  same  hours  that  their  daughters  arc  now 
busy  at  crimp  and  bastct.  Modern  statesmen  are  concerting  schemes,  and  en- 
K  i-;fd  in  the  depth  of  politics,  at  ihc  time  when  their  forefathers  were  laid  down 
qii.'  tiy  to  rest,  and  had  nothing  in  their  heads  but  dreams.  As  wc  have  thus 
thrown  buiincM  and  plcisurc  into  the  hours  of  rest,  and  by  lh.it  means  m.ide 
the  natural  nixlit  about  h.ilf  as  lung  as  it  should  be,  we  are  forced  to  piece  it  out 
with  a  great  part  of  the  morning  ;  so  th:il  near  two  thirds  of  the  nation  lie  f.ist 
asleep  for  several  hours  in  bro.id  daylight.  This  irngulaiiiy  is  grown  so  very 
£ufaionable  at  present,  that  there  it  scarce  a  lady  of  quality  in  Great  Britain 
that  ever  saw  ilic  sun  rise."  —  Ed. 


382  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

to  impose  what  they  thought  convenient  upon  the 
subject,  by  writs  of  ship-money  never  before  known  : 
and  a  supposed  necessity  now,  and  a  bare  averment 
of  that  necessity,  is  as  confidently  and  more  fatally 
concluded  a  good  ground  to  exclude  the  crown  from 
the  use  of  any  power,  by  an  ordinance  never  before 
heard  of,  and  the  same  maxim  of  salus  popidl  su- 
p?-c7na  lex,  which  had  been  used  to  the  infringing  the 
liberty  of  the  one,  made  use  of  for  destroying  the 
rights  of  the  other," 

That  it  was  ridiculous  in  one  encroaching  indi- 
vidual, or  his  court,  to  use  the  maxim  of  salus  popidi 
for  his  own  advantage,  in  contradistinction  to  theirs, 
is  evident ;  but  it  is  not  so  evident  that  it  was  absurd 
or  vicious  in  the  people  themselves  to  use  the  same 
maxim  against  the  encroachments  of  the  individual ; 
and  by  Clarendon's  acknowledgment  in  many  places, 
however  he  may  contradict  it  in  others,  the  people  at 
large  were  really  as  much  at  issue  with  the  King  as 
their  representatives.  Clarendon,  with  all  his  su- 
periority to  the  rest  of  the  court,  argues  this  question, 
after  all,  like  a  lawyer.  The  King  is  his  client,  the 
people  the  defendants,  and  the  most  liberal  concession 
he  makes  is,  that  both  have  equal  rights.  But  by 
his  own  account,  the  people  were  in  the  right  in 
this  great  quarrel.  Their  representatives,  no  doubt, 
sometimes  committed  great  faults ;  and  what  was 
worse,  mean  ones.  They  had  not  escaped  the  con- 
tagion of  court  example,  and  the  cried-up  craft  of 
King  James.  But  the  great  question  liad  now  come 
up  ;  of  the  many  against  the  few.  It  was  the  few 
who  began  it ;  they  would  have  trampled  the  many 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  383 

into  the  dust  forever ;  and  the  many  had  a  right  to 
bring  them  to  their  proper  senses  and  situations. 
The  King  up  to  this  period  has  always  averred,  and 
still  avers,  that  he  never  intended  to  make  war  on 
the  Parliament.  He  solemnly  protested  it.  And  yet 
Clarendon  now  says,  as  an  excuse  to  those  wIk)  re- 
proaclied  the  King  with  not  making  war,  that  the  fact 
was.  he  had  no  means  of  making  it,  not  a  barrel  of 
powder,  nor  musket,  nor  money ;  but  that  he  ex- 
pected all  these  necessaries  with  impatience  from  the 
Qiiccn.  (See  Book  V.,  in  various  places  towards  the 
end.)  The  Parliament  had  notice  of  all  these  secret 
wishes  and  manoeuvres  :  and  yet  both  Clarendon  and 
his  master  are  constantly  reproaching  them  for  not 
putting  faith  in  their  practices  ! 

Goring's  infinite  Hypocrisy,  which  Claren- 
don SEEMS  TO  AD.MiRE.  —  '' Colonel  Goring  came, 
upon  the  summons,  with  that  undauntedness,  that  all 
clouds  of  distrust  immediately  vanished,  insomuch  as 
no  man  presumed  to  whisper  the  least  jealousy  of 
him;  whicii  he  observing,  came  to  the  House  of 
Commons,  of  wliich  he  was  a  member;  and,  having 
sat  a  day  or  two  patiently,  as  if  lie  expected  some 
charge,  in  the  end  lie  stood  up,  with  a  countenance 
full  of  modesty,  and  yet  not  without  a  mixture  of  an- 
ger (as  he  could  help  himself  witii  all  insinuations  of 
doubt,  or  fear,  or  shame,  or  simplicity  in  his  face, 
that  miglit  gain  belief,  to  a  greater  degree  tlian  I  ever 
saw  anv  man  ;  and  could  seem  the  most  confounded 
when  he  was  best  prepared,  and  the  most  out  of 
countenance  when  he  was  V^cst  resolved,  and  to  want 


384  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

words  and  the  habit  of  speaking,  when  they  flowed 
from  no  man  with  greater  power),  and  told  them, 
'  that  lie  had  been  sent  for  by  them,  upon  some  in- 
formation given  against  him,  and  that,  though  he  be- 
lieved the  charge  being  so  ridiculous,  they  might  have 
received,  by  their  own  particular  inquiry,  satisfaction  ; 
yet  the  discourses  that  had  been  used,  and  his  being 
sent  for  in  that.manner,  had  begot  some  prejudices  to 
him  in  his  reputation  ;  which  if  he  could  not  pre- 
serve, he  should  be  less  able  to  do  them  service  ;  and 
therefore  desired  that  he  might  h;ive  leave  (though 
very  unskilful,  and  unfit  to  speak  in  so  wise  and  judi- 
cious assembl}')  to  present  to  them  tiie  state  and  con- 
dition of  that  place  under  his  command,  and  then  he 
doubted  not  but  to  give  them  full  satisfaction  in  those 
particulars,  which  possibh'  had  made  some  impres- 
sion on  them  to  his  disadvantage  ;  that  he  was  far 
from  taking  it  ill  from  those  who  had  given  anv  in- 
formation  against  him  ;  for  what  he  had  done,  and 
must  do,  might  give  some  umbrage  to  well-affected 
persons,  who  knew  not  the  grounds  and  reasons  that 
induced  him  so  to  do  ;  but  that  if  any  such  persons 
would,  at  any  time,  resort  to  him,  he  would  clearly 
inform  them  of  whatever  motives  he  had ;  and  would 
be  glad  of  their  advice  and  assistance  for  the  better 
doing  thereof.'  Then  he  took  notice  of  every  partic- 
ular that  had  been  publicly  said  against  him,  or  pri- 
vately whispered,  and  gave  such  plausible  answers 
to  the  whole,  intermingling  sharp  taunts  and  scorns 
to  what  had  been  said  of  him,  with  pretty  application 
of  himself  and  flattery  to  the  men  that  spake  it, 
concluding,  '  that  they  well  knew  in  what  esteem  he 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  385 

Stood  with  Others ;  so  that  if,  by  his  ill  carriage,  he 
should  forfeit  the  good  opinion  of  that  House,  upon 
which  he  only  depended,  and  to  whose  service  he 
entirely  devoted  himself,  he  were  madder  than  his 
friends  took  him  to  be,  and  must  be  as  unpitied  in  any 
misery  that  could  befall  him,  as  his  enemy  would  be 
glad  to  see.'  With  which,  as  innocently  and  unaffect- 
edly uttered  as  can  be  imagined,  he  .got  so  general 
an  applause  with  the  whole  House,  that  not  without 
some  little  apology  for  troubling  him,  they  desired  him 
again  to  repair  to  his  government,  and  to  finish  those 
works  which  were  necessary  for  the  safety  of  the 
place  ;  and  gratified  him  with  consenting  to  all  the 
propositions  he  made  in  behalf  of  his  garrison,  and 
paid  him  a  good  sum  of  money  for  their  arrears  ;  with 
which,  and  being  privately  assured  (which  was  in- 
deed resolved  on)  that  he  should  be  Lieutenant  Gen- 
eral when  it  should  be  formed,  he  departed  again  to 
Portsmouth  ;  in  the  mean  time  assuring  his  Majesty, 
by  those  who  were  trusted  between  them,  '  that  he 
would  be  speedily  in  a  posture  to  make  his  decla- 
ration for  his  service,  as  he  should  be  required;' 
which  he  was  forced  to  do  sooner  than  he  was  pro- 
vided for,  th<nigh  not  sooner  than  he  liad  reason  to 
expect."  —  Hook   V. 

Goring  afterwards  surrendered  i'<jrlsmoulli  back 
again  to  tiic  Parliament,  but  was  still  trusted  by  any- 
body wliom  he  chose  to  deceive,  and  went  lying  anil 
cheating  on  all  sides  of  him.  It  is  impossible,  in 
spite  of  one's  indignation,  not  to  admire  the  talents 
which  he  so  perverted  ;  but  it  is  desirable  in  a  writer 
who  aflects  integrity  like  Clarendon,  that  the  indig- 


386  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

nation  should  be  more  prominent  than  he  has  cliosen 
to  make  it.  Besides,  a  great  deal  of  our  admiration 
of  such  men  is  diminished,  if  we  reflect,  that  they 
very  likely  succeeded  in  deceiving  so  many  others, 
not  because  they  are  more  clever  than  many  of  them, 
but  because  they  possess  one  accomplishment  the 
less,  —  namely,  a  sense  of  moral  beauty.  1  suspect 
(which  is  extrely  probable)  that  Goring  very  spe- 
cially deceived  Clarendon  himself;  who  then  became 
willing  to  think  as  highly  as  possible  of  a  man  that 
had  overreached  him  ;  for  it  is  diflicult  not  to  see 
that  his  tendency,  after  all,  is  to  value  intellect  and 
political  dexterity  above  every  other  consideration. 
He  confounded  too  often  the  instrument  with  its 
work.  In  Book  VIII.  is  a  capital  summary  of  the 
character  of  Goring.  Clarendon  excels  in  portraits. 
He  has  here  painted  two  sovereign  debauchees  to  the 
life. 

Portraits  of  two  Debauchees  —  Goring  and 
WiLMOT.  —  "Goring,  who  was  now  General  of  the 
Horse,  was  no  more  gracious  to  Prince  Rupert  than 
Wilmot  had  been  ;  had  all  the  other's  faults  and 
wanted  his  regularity,  and  preserving  his  respect  with 
the  officers.  Wilmot  loved  debauchery,  but  shut  it 
out  from  his  business ;  never  neglected  that,  and 
rarely  miscarried  in  it.  Goring  had  a  much  better 
understanding,  and  a  sharper  wit  (except  in  the  very 
exercise  of  dcbaucherv,  and  then  the  other  was  in- 
spired),  a  much  keener  courage  and  presentness  of 
mind  in  danger.  Wilmot  discerned  it  farther  off,  and 
because    he   could   not  behave  himself  so  well   in   it, 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  387 

commonly  prevented,  or  warily  declined  it;  and 
never  drank  when  he  was  within  distance  of  an 
enemy  ;  Goring  was  not  able  to  resist  the  temptation 
when  he  was  in  the  middle  of  them,  nor  would  de- 
cline it  to  obtain  a  victory  :  as  in  one  of  those  fits, 
he  Jiad  sutTered  the  horse  to  escape  out  of  Cornwall ; 
and  the  most  signal  misfortunes  in  his  life  in  war 
had  their  rise  from  that  uncontrollable  license.  Nei- 
ther of  them  valued  their  promises,  professions,  or 
friendships,  according  to  any  rules  of  honor  or  integ- 
ritv  ;  but  Wilmot  violated  them  the  less  willingly,  and 
never  but  for  some  great  benefit  or  convenience  to 
liimself ;  Goring  witliout  scruple,  out  of  humor,  or 
for  wit's  sake  ;  and  loved  no  man  so  well  but  that 
he  would  cozen  him,  and  then  expose  him  to  public 
mirth  for  having  been  cozened;  therefore  he  had  al- 
ways fewer  friends  than  the  other,  but  moie  com- 
pany ;  for  no  man  had  wit  that  pleased  the  company 
belter.  The  ambition  of  both  was  unlimited,  and  so 
equally  incapable  of'being  contented  :  and  both  un- 
restrained, by  any  respect  to  good  nature  or  justice, 
from  pursuing  the  satisfaction  thereof:  yet  Wilmot  had 
more  scruples  from  religion  to  startle  him,  and  would 
not  have  attained  his  end  by  any  gross  or  foul  act 
of  wickedness.  Goring  could  have  passed  through 
pleasantly,  and  would  without  hesitation  have  broken 
any  trust,  or  douc  any  act  of  treachery  to  have  sat- 
isfied an  ordinary  passion  or  appetite  ;  and,  in  trutii, 
wanted  nothing  but  industry  (for  he  hid  witf  and 
courage,  and  understanding,  and  aml)ition,  uncon- 
trolled by  any  fear  of  God  or  man)  to  have  been  as 
eminent   and  successful   in   the    highest    attempts  of 


3SS  TJIE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

wickedness,  as  any  man  of  the  age  he  lived  in  or  be- 
fore. Of  all  his  qualifications,  dissimulation  was  his 
masterpiece,  in  which  he  so  much  excelled,  that  men 
wei'e  not  ordinarily  ashamed  or  out  of  countenance 
with  being  deceived  but  twice  by  him." 

There  is  a  Bacchanalian  "  Health  to  Goring"  inthe 
Poems  of  Robert  Herrick.  If  any  charitable  person 
wishes  to  find  an  excuse  for  Lord  Rochester,  let  him 
know,  if  he  does  not  know  it  ahead}',  that  Wilmot 
was  his  father.  1S35. 


GEORGE   SELWYN  AND   HIS   CONTEMPO- 
RARIES.* 


T 


HERE  is  a  charm  in  the  bare  title  of  this  book. 
It  is  an  open  sesame  to  a  world  of    pleasant 


•  Edinburgh  Review,  1844.  —  George  Selwyn  and  his  Contemporaries ;  with 
Memoir  and  Notes.     By  John  Heneage  Jesse.    4  vols.    8  vo.     London  :  1S43-4. 

[The  easy  and  idiomatic  English  of  this  paper,  was  not,  it  is  to  be  feared,  ap- 
preciated by  Mr.  Macvey  Napier,  Jeffrey's  successor  in  the  editorship  of  the 
Edinburgh  Review  ;  for  upon  Hunt  proposing  to  send  him  a  "chatty  article," 
for  the  "buff  and  blue,"  he  grew  alarmed,  and  wrote  the  essayist  a  harsh  letter  on 
dignity  of  style.  The  sensitive  contributor  was  sorely  wounded,  and  appealed  to 
Macaulay  for  counsel,  who  replied  in  a  kind  and  cordial  letter.  See  with  what 
tact  Macaulay  consoles  the  discomforted  reviewer :  "  Napier  would  thoroughly 
appreciate  the  merit  of  a  writer  like  Bolingbroke  or  Robertson  ;  but  would,  I 
think,  be  unpleasantly  affected  by  the  peculiarities  of  such  a  writer  as  Burton, 
Sterne,  or  Charles  Lamb.  He  thinks  your  style  too  colloquial ;  and,  no  doubt,  it 
has  a  very  colloquial  character.  I  wish  it  to  retain  that  character,  wliich  to  me 
is  exceedingly  pleasant.  But  I  think  that  the  danger  against  which  you  have  to 
guard  is  excess  in  that  direction.  Napier  is  the  very  man  to  be  startled  by  the 
smallest  excess  in  that  direction.  Therefore  I  am  not  surprised  that,  when  you 
proposed  to  send  him  a  cluitty  article,  he  took  fright,  and  recommended  dignity 
and  severity  of  style."  —  Ed.] 


ESSAYS    AXD    SKETCHES.  389 

things.  As  at  the  ringing  of  the  manager's  bell,  the 
curtain  rises,  and  discovers  a  brilliant /fa;(5/^a?^  of  wits, 
beauties,  statesmen,  and  men  of  pleasure  about  town, 
attired  in  the  quaint  costume  of  our  great-grandfa- 
thers and  great-graiulmothers  ;  or,  better  still,  we  feel 
as  if  we  had  obtained  the  reverse  of  Bentham's  wish 
—  to  live  a  part  of  his  life  at  the  end  of  the  tiext 
hundred  years  —  by  being  permitted  to  live  a  part 
of  ours  about  the  beginning  of  the  last^  with  an  ad- 
vantage he  never  stipulated  for,  of  spending  it  with 
the  pleasantest  people  of  the  day. 

Let  us  now  suppose  that  only  twenty-four  hours 
were  granted  for  us ;  how  much  might  be  done  or 
seen  within  the  time  !  We  take  the  privilege  of 
long  intimacy  to  drop  in  upon  Selwyn  in  Chester- 
field Street,  about  half-past  ten  or  eleven  in  the  morn- 
ing;  we  find  him  in  his  dressing-gown,  playing  with 
his  dog  Raton  :  at  twelve  we  walk  down  arm-in- 
arm to  White's,  where  Selwyn's  arrival  is  hailetl 
with  a  joyous  laugh,  and  Topham  Beauclerk  hastens 
to  initiate  us  into  the  newest  bit  of  scandal.  The 
day  is  warm,  and  a  stroll  to  Betty's  *fruit-shop  (St. 
James's  Street)  is  proposed.  Lord  March  is  already 
there,  settling  his  famous  bet  vvilli  young  Mr.  Pigot, 
that  old  Mr.  Pigot  would  'die  before  Sir  William 
Codrington.  Just  as  this  grave  allair  is  settled,  a 
cry  is  raised  of  ''  the  Gunnings  are  coming,"  and 
out  we  all  tuml^lc  to  ga/.c  and  criticise.  At  Brookes', 
our  next  house  to  call,  Sir  Charles  Ilanhinv  Wil- 
liams is  easily  persuaded  to  entertain  the  parly  by 
reatling  his  verses,  not  }et  printed,  on  the  marriage 
of  Mr.  Ilusscy  (an   Irish  gentleman)  with  the  Uiich- 


390  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

ess  of  Manchester  (the  best  match  in  the  kingdom), 
and  is  made  happy  by  our  comphments ;  but  looks 
rather  blank  on  Rigby's  hinting  that  the  author  will 
be  obliged  to  fight  half  the  Irishmen  in  town,  which, 
considering  the  turn  of  the  verses,  seemed  probable 
enough.  To  cliange  at  once  the  subject  and  the 
scene,  we  accompany  him  and  Rigby  to  the  House 
of  Commons,  where  we  iind  the  "  great  commoner" 
making  a  furious  attack  on  the  Attorney-General 
(Murray),  who,  as  Walpole  phrases  it,  suffered  for 
an  hour.  After  hearing  an  animated  reply  from 
Fox  (the  first  Lord  Holland),  we  rouse  Selwyn, 
who  is  dozing  behind  the  treasury  bench,  and,  wish- 
ing to  look  in  upon  the  Lords,  make  him  introduce 
us.  We  find  Lord  Chesterfield  speaking,  the  Chan- 
cellor (Hardwicke)  expected  to  speak  next,  the  Duke 
of  Cumberland  just  come  in,  and  the  Duke  of  New- 
castle shuffling  about  in  a  ludicrous  state  of  pertur- 
bation, betokening  a  crisis  ;  but  Selwyn  grows  im- 
patient, and  we  hurry  oft"  to  Strawben-y  Hill,  to  join 
the  rest  of  the  celebrated  partie  quarree\  or  "  out 
of  town  "  party  who  are  long  ago  assembled.  The 
petit  soupcr  appears  on  the  instant,  and  as  the  cham- 
pagne circulates,  there  circulates  along  with  it  a 
refined,  fastidious,  fashionable,  anecdotic,  gossiping 
kind  of  pleasantry,  as  exhilarating  as  its  sparkle,  and 
as  volatile  as  its  froth.  We  return  too  late  to  see 
Garrick  ;  but  time  enough  for  the  house-warming  fete 
at  Chesterfield  House,  where  the  Duke  of  Hamilton 
loses  a  thousand  pounds  at  faro,  because  he  chooses 
to  ogle  Elizabeth  Gimning  instead  of  attending  to 
his  cards. 


ESSAYS    AXD    SKETCHES.  39I 

We  shall,  perhaps,  be  reminded  that  we  have  seen 
nothing  of  Fielding,  Richardson,  Smollett,  Johnson, 
Collins,  Akenside,  Mason,  or  Gray ;  but  our  gay 
friends,  alas  !  never  once  alluded  to  them,  and  for 
21s  to  waste  any  part  of  so  short  a  period  in  look- 
ing for  men  of  letters,  would  be  to  act  like  the 
debtor  in  the  Qiieen's  Bench  prison,  who,  when  he 
got  a  day  rule,  invariably  spent  it  in  the  Fleet. 

According  to  Mr.  Jesse,  we  owe  this  new  glimpse 
into  these  times  to  a  habit  of  Selvvyn's,  which  it  is 
difficult  to  reconcile  with  his  general  carelessness. 
"  It  seems  to  have  been  one  of  his  peculiarities  to 
preserve  not  only  every  letter  addressed  to  him  dur- 
ing the  course  of  his  long  life,  but  also  the  most 
trifling  notes  and  unimportant  memoranda."  Such 
was  the  practice  of  the  most  cclebratetl  wit  of  the 
eighteenth  century  ;  the  most  celebrated  wit  of  the 
nineteenth  does  precisely  the  reverse.  "  Upon  princi- 
ple," said  tlie  Rev.  Sydney  Smitli,  in  answer  to  an 
application  about  letters  from  Sir  John  Mackintosh, 
"  I  keep  no  letters,  except  those  on  business.  I  have 
not  a  single  letter  from  him,  nor  from  any  human 
being  in  my  possession."*  We  should  certainly  pre- 
fer being  our  contemporary's  correspondent  ;  but  we 
must  confess  that  we  are  not  sorry  to  come  in  for  a 
share  of  the  benefits  accruing  from  Selwvn's  saving's 
to  his  posterity. 


•  Life  of  M  '1,  l.y  hi»  S'm,  vol.  ii ,  pAg"?  99.  —  "  Wc  l.ilkcrl  of  li-tler- 
writing.  '!•  rj  J'linson,  '  bccoiii':  »o  much  llic  fjsliioii  to  piibliiili  let- 
ters, that,  in  '>i<l  ii,  I  put  .is  liltic  into  mine  as  I  can.'  'Dowh.il  you 
will,  sir,' rcj'  1,  '  you  cannot  avoid  it.'"  —  Bo'^wcH't  Life  of  Johnson, 
vol.  yii.,  p.  80. 


392  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

"  To  this  peculiarity,"  continues  Mr.  Jesse,  "  the  reader  is 
indebted  for  whatever  amusement  he  may  derive  from  the 
perusal  of  these  volumes.  The  greater  portion  of  their  con- 
tents consists  of  letters  addressed  to  Sehvyn  bj  persons  who, 
in  their  day,  moved  in  the  first  ranks  of  wit.  genius,  and 
fashion.  Independent  of  their  general  merit  as  epistolary 
compositions,  the  editor  conceives  that  ti'ie3'  will  be  found  in 
a  higii  degree  valuable  and  entertaining,  frona  the  light 
which  they  throw  on  the  manners  and  customs  of  society  in 
the  last  age,  from  their  presenting  a  faithful  chronicle  of  the 
passing  events  of  the  day,  and  from  the  mass  of  amusing 
gossip  and  lively  anecdote  which  they  contain." 

This  is  a  rather  injudicious  paragraph.  It  excites 
expectations  which  are  not  ful  filed.  There  is  very 
little  anecdote  —  less  altogether  than  will  be  found  in 
any  half  dozen  consecutive  letters  of  Walpole  ;  and 
two  volumes  would  contain  everything  in  the  book 
calculated  to  throw  the  faintest  light  on  manners.  It 
is,  indeed,  precisely  of  that  kind  which  Bacon  says 
should  be  read  by  deputy,  i.  e.,  through  the  medium 
of  a  Review  ;  for  the  real  meaning  of  the  aphorism  — 
"  Bad  books  make  good  reviews,  as  bad  wine  makes 
good  vinegar"  —  is  not,  as  the  profane  allege,  be- 
cause critics  excel  or  exult  in  fault-finding,  but  be- 
cause their  chief  utility  consists  in  collecting  scattered 
beauties,  distilling  essences,  or  separating  the  true 
metal  from  the  dross.  But  it  would  be  unjust  to  call 
this  a  bad  book  ;  it  is  certainly  one  which  every  pos- 
sessor of  a  librar}' should  possess;  yet  it  is  one  in 
which  the  quantity  of  print  is  out  of  all  proportion  to 
the  useful  or  amusing  matter ;  and  the  intelligent 
editor  is  evidently  conscious  of  the  fact ;  for,  on  what 
principle  can  his  singularly  liberal  mode  of  annotation 
be  defended^  except  as  compensating  for  the  poverty 
of  the  text.''     The  legitimate  use  of  editorial  notes  is 


ESSAYS   AND   SKETCHES.  393 

to  clear  up  doubtful  allusions,  or  supply  knowledge 
necessary  to  the  understanding  of  the  work.  For  ex- 
ample, it  might  be  useful  to  tell  us  something  about 
Gilly  Williams ;  but  the  youngest  reader  knows 
enough  of  Garrick  not  to  be  puzzled  by  the  incidental 
occurrence  of  his  name.  Yet  we  are  favored  with  a 
biographical  notice  of  the  great  actor,  occupying  ten 
pages,  apropos  of  this  solitary  line  in  one  of  Dr.  War- 
ner's letters  —  "  The  chapter  of  Garrick  (his  death) 
is  a  very  melancholy  one  for  poor  Harry  Hoare  and 
me."  Tiiis  is  book-making  with  a  venircance !  At 
the  same  time,  this  mode  of  proceeding  has  answered 
the  main  purpose  ;  it  has  made  the  book  more  reada- 
ble, and  may  save  the  indolently  curious  much  trou- 
ble, by  placing  all  they  can  possibly  wish  to  learn,  or 
refer  to,  within  reach.  Thus  we  find  here  a  careful 
compilation  of  most  of  the  scattered  notices  regarding 
Sehvyn  himself;  and,  with  the  help  of  the  materials 
thus  collected,  we  will  endeavor,  before  tapping  (to 
borrow  Walpole's  word)  the  chapter  of  his  correspon- 
dence, to  sketch  an  outline  of  his  life. 

George  Augustus  Selwyn  entered  the  world  with 
every  advantage  of  birth  and  connection  ;  to  which 
that  of  fiirtune  was  added  in  good  time.  His  father. 
Colonel  John  Selwyn,  of  Matson,  in  Gloucestershire, 
where  the  family  ranked  as  one  of  the  best  in  the 
county,  had  been  aide-de-camp  to  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough, commanded  a  regiment,  sat  many  years  in 
Parliament,  and  filled  various  situations  about  the 
court.  His  mother,  a  daughter  of  (icncral  Farring- 
ton,  was  woman  of  the  bedchamber  to  (^leen  Caroline, 
and  enjoyed  a  high  reputation   for  social  humor.     As 


394  'ri'E    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

his  father  was  a  plain,  straightforward,  commonphice 
sort  of  man,  it  is  fair  to  presume  that  he  inherited  his 
pecuHar  talent  from  her  ;  thus  adding  another  to  the 
many  instances  of  gifted  men  formed  hy  mothers,  or 
endowed  by  them  with  the  best  and  brightest  of  their 
qualities.  Schiller,  Goethe,  the  Schlegels,  Victor 
Hugo,  Canning,  Lord  Brougham,  occur  to  us  on  the 
instant;  and  Curran  said,  "The  only  inheritance  I 
could  boast  of  from  my  poor  father,  was  the  very 
scanty  one  of  an  unattractive  face  and  person,  like  his 
own  ;  and  if  the  world  has  ever  attributed  to  me  some- 
thing more  valuable  than  face  or  person,  or  than 
earthly  wealth,  it  was  that  another  and  a  dearer  par- 
ent gave  her  child  a  fortune  from  the  treasure  of  her 
mind." 

Selwyn  was  born  on  the  iith  August,  1719-  He 
was  educated  at  Eton,  and  on  leaving  it  entered  at 
Hertford  College,  Oxford.  After  a  short  stay  at  the 
University,  he  started  on  the  grand  tour,  and  on  his 
return,  though  a  second  son,  with  an  elder  brother 
living,  made  London  and  Paris  his  headquarters,  be- 
came a  member  of  the  clubs,  and  associated  with  the 
wits  and  men  of  fashion.  Before  he  had  completed 
his  twenty-first  year,  he  was  appointed  clerk  of  the 
irons  and  surveyor  of  the  meltings  at  the  mint :  offices 
usually  performed  by  deputy.  At  all  events,  occa- 
sional attendance  at  the  weekly  dinner  formerly  pro- 
vided for  this  department  of  the  public  service,  was 
the  only  duty  they  imposed  on  Selwyn  ;  the  ver_y  man 
to  act  on  Colonel  Hanger's  principle,  who,  when  a 
friend  in  power  suggested  that  a  particular  office,  not 
being  a  sinecure,  would  hardly  suit  him,  replied,  "  Get 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  395 

me  the  place,  and  leave  me  alone  for  making  it  a 
sinecure."  The  salary  mnst  have  been  small,  for  in  a 
letter  from  Paris  (September,  1742),  he  says  that  his 
entire  income,  including  the  allowance  made  him  by 
his  father,  was  only  two  hundred  and  twenty  pounds 
a  year ;  and  he  appears  to  have  been  constantly  in 
distress  for  money.  In  a  letter  to  his  former  Eton 
tutor,  Mr.  Vincent  Mathias  (Paris,  November,  1742), 
he  entreats  his  advice  as  to  the  best  mode  of  getting 
the.  colonel  to  advance  a  small  sum  over  and  above 
liis  yearly  income  ;  and  gives  a  pitiable  description  of 
circumstances,  —  ''without  clothes,  linen,  books,  or 
credit." 

In  1744  Sclwyn  returned  to  Hertford  College,  and 
resumed  the  life  of  a  college  student,  —  unaccountably 
enough,  for  he  was  then  a  formed  man  of  the  world, 
and  twenty-five.  Probably  he  had  the  thoughts  of 
pursuing  a  profession,  or,  to  please  his  father,  pre- 
tended that  he  had.  His  influential  position  in  the 
London  world  at  this  time,  is  shown  by  letters  from 
Rigby  and  Sir  Charles  Ilanbury  Williams. 

•'  The  liight  Hon.  Richard  Hii^by  to  George  Sclwyn. 
•  Tuesday,  March  12  (1745),  7  o'clock. 
"Dear  George:  I  thank  you  for  your  letter,  which  I 
have  this  tnotncnt  received  and  read;  and,  that  \ou  may  not 
be  surprised  at  my  readiness  in  answeriiv^  it,  I  will  hr-^in 
with  leilin'^i  von  the  occasion  of  it.  /  am  Just  got  home  from 
a  cock-match,  where  I  have  won  Ibrty  pounds  in  ready  money, 
and,  not  havinfj  dined,  am  waitinij  till  I  hear  the  rattle  of 
the  coaches  from  the  Iloiibc  of  Commons,  in  order  to  dine  at 
White's;  and  now  I  will  bei(in  my  journal,  for  in  that  style 
I  believe  my  letters  will  be  best  received,  considering  our 
situations. 

"I  saw  Garrick  act  Othello  that  same  nic;ht,  in  which  T 
think   he  was  vr-ry  muneaningly  dressed,  and  snccecded  in 


39^^  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

no  degree  of  comparison  with  Qiiin,  except  in  the  scene 
where  lago  gives  him  the  first  siispicion  of  Desdemona. 
He  endeavored  throughout  to  play  and  speak  everything 
directly  ditrerent  from  Qj_iin,  and  failed,  I  think,  in  most  of 
his  alterations." 

This  was  the  occasion  when  Qiiin  went  to  the  jjit 
to  see  his  rival  act.  It  was  at  a  time  when  Hogarth's 
Marriage  a  la  Mode  was  familiar  to  every  one.  One 
of  the  prints  of  that  series  represents  a  negro  boy 
bringing  in  the  tea  things.  When  Garrick,  with  his 
diminutive  figure  and  blackened  face,  came  forward 
as  Othello,  Qtiin  exclaimed,  "  Here  is  Pompey,  but 
where  is  the  tray.-*"  The  effect  was  electrical,  and 
Garrick  never  attempted  Othello  again.  When  Dr. 
Griffiths,  many  years  afterwards,  thoughtlessly  in- 
quired whether  he  had  ever  acted  the  part,  "  Sir," 
said  he,  evidently  disconcerted,  "  I  once  acted  it  to 
my  cost." 

Sir  Charles  writes,  — 

"  I  hope  you  divert  yourself  well  at  the  expense  of  the 
whole  University,  though  the  object  is  not  worthy  you.  The 
dullest  fellow  in  it  has  parts  enough  to  ridicule  it,  and  you 
have  parts  to  tiy  at  nobler  game." 

By  disregarding  this  sensible  hint  Selwyn  got  into 
a  scrape,  which,  had  it  happened  in  our  time,  would 
have  fixed  a  lasting  stigma  on  liis  character.  In  1745 
he  so  far  forgot  himself,  in  a  drunken  frolic,  as  to  go 
through  a  profane  mockery  of  a  religious  ceremony  ; 
and  the  circumstance  having:  come  to  the  knowledge 
of  the  heads  of  the  University,  he  was  expelled.  Most 
of  his  gay  friends  looked  on  this  affair  in  the  same 
light  as  Sir  William  Maynard,  who  writes  thus :  — 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  397 

"  Walthamstow,  July  3,  1745- 
"  Dear  George  :  I  have  this  moment  received  yours, 
and  have  only  time  to  tell  you  the  sooner  30U  come  here, 
the  greater  the  obligation  will  be  to  me.  Z>— «  the  Univer- 
sity !  —  I  zvisk  they  -vcre  both  on  fire,  and  one  could  hear  the 
proctors  cry  like  roasted  lobsters.  My  compliments  to  Dr. 
Newton.  Yours  affectionately, 

"  W.  M." 

Indeed,  the  only  palliation  or  apology,  and  that  a 
poor  one,  that  can  be  urged  for  Sehvyn,  is  to  be  found 
in  the  bad  taste  and  loose  habits  of  his  contempora- 
ries. The  famous Medenhain  Abbey  club  was  founded 
soon  afterwards.  It  consisted  of  twelve  members, 
who  met  at  Medcnham  Abbey,  near  Marlow,  to  in- 
dulge in  ribaldry,  profanity,  and  licentiousness.  The 
motto  (from  Rabelais)  over  the  grand  entrance  was, 
Fay  ce  que  voudrals.  Though  the  club  became  no- 
torious, and  their  disgusting  profanity  was  well  known, 
it  proved  no  bar  cither  to  the  reception  of  the  members 
in  society,  or  to  tiicir  advancement  in  the  stale.  vSir 
Francis  Dashwood,  the  founder,  who  ollicated  as  high 
priest,  became  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  ;  Lord 
Sandwich,  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty  ;  and  Wilkes 
everything  that  the  sober  citizens  of  London  could 
make  him. 

Sclwyn's  character  at  this  time  is  given  by  one  of 
the  Oxford  magnates  :  "  The  upper  part  of  society 
here,  with  whom  he  often  converses,  have,  and  always 
have  had,  a  very  good  opinion  of  him.  He  is  cer- 
tainly not  intemperate  nor  dissolute,  nor  docs  he 
game  that  I  know  or  have  heard  of.  I  Ic  has  a 
good  deal  of  vanil)-,  and  loves  to  be  admired  and 
caressed,  and  so  suits  himself  with  great  c;isc  lo  the 
gravest  and  the  sprightliest." 


398  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

Colonel  and  ISIrs.  Selwyn  were,  on  this  occasion, 
shocked  and  irritated  in  the  highest  degree  ;  but  the 
failing  hcaltii  of  his  elder  brother  John  contributed  to 
soften  them,  and  procure  him  an  extent  of  indulgence 
which  would  hardly  have  been  granted,  had  it  not  be- 
come apparent  that  the  family  estate  and  honors  must 
eventually  devolve  upon  him.  John  Selwyn  was  the 
intimate  friend  of  Marshal  Conway,  to  whom,  so 
early  as  174O5  Walpole  writes,  "  1  did  not  hurry  my- 
self to  answer  your  last,  but  chose  to  write  to  poor 
Selwyn  upon  his  illness.  He  deserves  so  much  love 
from  all  that  know  him,  and  you  owe  him  so  much 
friendship,  that  I  can  scarce  conceive  a  greater  shock." 
He  did  not  die  till  June,  175I)  when  George  Selwyn 
was  in  his  thirty-second  year.  By  this  event  he  be- 
came the  heir,  but  the  estate  was  unentailed,  and  his 
prospects  were  still  dubious  enough  to  excite  the  ap- 
prehensions of  his  friends.  In  November,  1751,  Sir 
William  Maynard  writes,  — 

"  The  public  papers  informed  me  of  your  father's  being 
dangerously  iU,  vvliich  was  confinned  to  me  last  post.  As 
3'ou  have  always  convinced  me  of  ^our  love  for  your  father 
(though  I  can't  persuade  the  world  you  will  be  sorry  for  his 
death),  I  shall  be  glad  to  know,  if  you  have  one  moment's 
leisure,  how  he  does,  as  you  are  so  nearly  concerned  in  his 
doing  well.  I  can't  help  thinking  but  it  will  be  more  for 
yOLir  interest  that  your  father  should  recover,  as  I  don't  yet 
imagine  you  g/ii/e  established  in  his  good  opinion,  and  as 
you  have  so  powerful  an  enemy  at  home." 

Who  his  powerful  enemy  at  home  was,  does  not 
appear.  His  mother  is  mentioned  in  a  preceding  let- 
ter as  his  advocate  ;  yet  one  of  Walpole's  anecdotes 
implies  that  at  one  time  he  had  forfeited  the  aflection 
of  both   parents.     The  notorious   Lady  Townshend 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES. 


399 


had  taken  an  extraordinary  fancy  to  the  rebel,  Lord 
Kihnarnock,  whom  she  had  never  seen  until  the 
day  of  his  trial.  "  George  Selwyn  dined  with  her, 
and  not  thinking  her  affliction  so  serious  as  she  pre- 
tended, talked  rather  jokingly  of  the  execution.  She 
burst  into  a  flood  of  lecus  and  rage,  told  him  she  now 
believed  all  his  father  and  mother  had  said  of  him, 
and,  with  a  thousand  other  reproaches,  flung  up  stairs. 
George  coolly  took  Mrs.  Dorcas,  her  woman,  and 
made  her  sit  down  to  iinish  the  bottle.  '  And  pray, 
sir,*  says  Dorcas,  '  do  you  think  my  lady  will  be  pre- 
vailed upon  to  let  me  go  and  sec  the  execution  }  I 
have  a  friend  that  has  promised  to  take  care  of  me, 
and  I  can  lie  in  the  tower  the  ni<;ht  before.'  " 

His  father  died  in  1751,  without  tying  up  the  prop- 
erty, which  broug'.it  with  it  the  power  of  nominating 
two  members  for  Ludgershall,  and  interest  enough  at 
Gloucester  to  insure  his  own  return  for  tiiat  city.  The 
change  of  circumstances  made  little  change  in  his 
course  of  life.  He  had  sat  in  Parliament  for  the  fam- 
ily borough  since  1747,  when  Gilly  Williams  writes, 
"  I  congratulate  you  on  the  near  approach  of  Parlia- 
ment, and  ligiire  yiju  ti>  myself  before  a  glass  at  your 
rehearsals.  1  must  intimate  to  you  not  to  forget  closing 
your  periods  with  a  significant  stroke  of  the  breast, 
and  recommend  Mr.  Barry  as  a  pattern,  who  I  think 
pathetically  excels  in  that  beauty."  Spranger  Barry, 
the  actor,  is  the  intended  model ;  but  Selwyn  was  not 
ambitious  of  senatorial  honors,  and  when  obliged  to 
attend  the  House,  and  be  in  readiness  fur  a  division, 
he  used  either  to  withdraw  to  one  of  the  committee- 
rooms  for  conversation,  or  to  fall  asleep.      He  geuer- 


400  THE    WISIIING-CAP    PAPERS. 

ally  sided  with  the  court  party,  and  was  well  reward- 
ed for  his  constancy ;  being  at  the  same  time  clerk  of 
the  irons,  and  surveyor  of  the  meltings  at  the  mint, 
registrar  of  the  court  of  chancery  in  Barbadoes  (where 
lie  had  an  estate),  and  paymaster  of  the  works  —  de- 
scribed as  a  very  lucrative  appointment.  It  was  abol- 
ished in  17S3  by  Burke's  economical  reform  bill  ;  but 
in  the  course  of  the  next  year  he  was  made  surveyor- 
general  of  tlie  works  by  Mr.  Pitt. 

In  1768  he  was  opposed  at  Gloucester  by  a  timber- 
merchant,  and  the  manner  in  which  his  friends  speak 
of  his  opponent  is  characteristic  of  the  times.  Gilly 
Williams  calls  him  "ad — d  carpenter  ; "  and  Lord 
Carlisle  asks,  — 

"Whjdidjoii  not  set  his  timber- ^-ard  afire?  What  can 
a  man  mean  who  has  not  an  idea  separated  from  the  foot 
square  of  a  Norway  deal  plank,  by  desirinij;  to  be  in  Parlia- 
ment ?  Perhaps  if  you  could  have  got  anybody  to  have  asked 
him  his  reasons  for  such  an  unnatural  attempt,  the  fact  of 
his  being  unable  to  answer  what  he  had  never  thought  about, 
might  have  made  him  desist.  But  these  beasts  are  mon- 
strously obstinate,  and  about  as  wellbred  as  the  great  dogs 
they  keep  in  their  yards." 

It  is  currently  related  that  Selwyn  did  his  best  to 
keep  Sheridan  out  of  Brookes',  and  was  only  prevent- 
ed from  black-balling  him  for  the  third  or  fourth  time 
by  a  trick.  According  to  one  version,  the  Prince  of 
Wales  kept  Selwyn  in  conversation  at  the  door  till 
the  ballot  was  over.  According  to  VVraxall's,  he  was 
suddenly  called  away  by  a  pretended  message  from 
his  adopted  daughter.  vSome  attribute  his  dislike  to 
aristocratic  prcjuiHce ;  others  to  party  feeling ;  and 
Mr.  Jesse   says  it  arose  in  a  great  degree  from  Sheri- 


ESSAYS   AND    SKETCHES.  4OI 

dan's  "  having  been  one  of  the  party  which  had  de- 
prived Selvvyn  of  a  lucrative  post "  —  that  of  Paymas- 
ter of  the  Works.  Yet  Mr.  Jesse  himself  states  that 
the  black-balHng  occurred  in  17S0,  and  that  the  place 
was  abolished  in  17S2.  We  are  uncharitable  enough 
to  think  that  an  established  wit  would  feel  something: 
like  an  estabhshed  beauty  at  the  proposed  introduc- 
tion of  a  rival,  and  that  a  tinge  of  jealousy  might  have 
been  the  foundation  of  the  dislike. 

Selwyn  had  taken  to  gaming  before  his  father's 
death  —  probably  from  his  first  introduction  to  the 
clubs.  In  174S,  Gilly  Williams  asks,  "  What  do 
you  intend?  I  think  the  almanac  bids  you  take  care 
of  colds,  and  abstain  from  physic  ;  I  say,  avoid  the 
knowing  ones,  and  abstain  from  hazard."  His  stakes 
were  higli,  though  not  extravagantly  so  compared 
with  the  sums  hazarded  by  his  contemporaries.  In 
1765  he  lost  a  thousand  pounds  to  Mr.  Shafto,  who 
applies  for  it  in  language  of  an  embarrassed  trades- 
man :  — 

"J»lj  I.  1765- 

"  Dear  Sir  :  I  have  this  moment  received  tlie  favor  of 
your  letter.  I  intciuicd  to  have  i^onc  out  of  town  on  Thurs- 
day, but  as  you  shall  not  receive  your  money  before  the  end 
of  this  week,  I  must  postpone  my  journey  till  Sunday.  A 
month  would  have  made  no  diflercnce  to  me  had  I  not  had 
others  to  pay  before  I  leave  town,  and  must  pav:  therefore 
must  betj  that  you  will  leave  the  wiiole  before  the  week  is 
out,  at  White's,  as  it  is  to  be  paid  aw.-iy  to  others  to  whom 
I  have  lost,  and  do  not  choose  to  leave  town  till  that  is 
done. 

"  Be  sure  you  could  not  wisli  an  indulgence  I  should  not 
be  happy  t9  grant,  if  in  my  power." 

.Mr.  Jesse  states,  that  laltcrl)  .Selwyn  eiitiicly  g(jt  the 
better  of  his  propensity  to  play  ;  oljscrving,  that  it  was 
26 


402  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

too  great  a  consumer  of  four  things  —  time,  health, 
fortune,  and  thinking.  But  an  extract  from  the  late 
]Mr.  Wilberforce's  Diary  throws  some  doubt  on  the 
accuracy  of  this  statement:  "The  first  time  I  was 
at  Brookes',  scarcely  knowing  any  one,  I  joined 
from  mere  shyness,  at  the  faro-table,  where  George 
Selwyn  kept  bank.  A  friend  who  knew  my  inex- 
perience, and  regarded  me  as  a  victim  decked  out 
for  sacrifice,  called  out  to  me,  "  VVhat,  Wilberforce  ! 
is  that  you.?"  Selwyn  quite  resented  this  interfer- 
ence, and  turning  to  him  said,  in  his  most  impres- 
sive tone,  "  O,  sir!  don't  interrupt  Mr.  Wilberforce; 
he  could  not  be  better  employed."  This  occurred  in 
1783,  when  Selwyn  was  sixty-three. 

Previously  we  find  him,  in  1776,  undergoing  the 
process  of  dunning  from  Lord  Derby;  and  in  1779, 
from  Mr.  Crawford,  '•  Fish  Crawford,"  as  he  wtis 
called,  each  of  whom,  like  Mr.  Shafto,  "  had  a  sum 
to  make  up." 

Gaming  was  his  only  vice.  He  indulged  moder- 
ately in  the  pleasures  of  the  table.  In  1765  Williams 
writes,  "You  may  eat  boiled  chicken  and  kiss  Raton 
(his  dog)  as  well  on  this  side  the  water."  As  regards 
gallantry,  we  have  good  authority  for  doubting  wheth- 
er he  was  quite  so  much  an  anchorite  as  was  sup- 
posed ;  but  his  coldness  was  a  constant  subject  of  ban- 
ter among  his  friends.  Lord  Holland  says,  "  My  Lady 
Mary  goes  (to  a  masquerade)  dressed  like  Zara,  and 
I  wish  you  to  attend  her  dressed  like  a  black  eunuch." 
Lord  Carlisle  —  "In  regard  to  her  (a  mysterious 
unknown),  in  every  other  light  but  as  a  friend,  you 
shall  see  I  shall  be  as  cold  as  a  stone,  or  as  yourself." 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  403 

Readers  of  the  Rolliad  may  recall  a  broader  joke  ; 
and  Mr.  Jesse  has  ventured  to  print  one  of  Gilly  Wil- 
liams's levelled  at  Walpole  as  well  as  Selvvyn,  which 
we  cannot  venture  to  transcribe.  As  to  his  alleged 
intrigue  with  the  Marchesa  Fagniani,  tb.ere  is  no  bet- 
ter proof  of  it  than  his  extreme  fondness  for  her  daugh- 
ter (Maria,  Dowager-Marchioness  of  Hertford), 
whom  the  gossips  thence  inferred  to  be  his  own.  In 
contemporary  opinion.  Lord  March  shared  the  honors 
of  paternity  with  Selwyn.  lie  was  equally  intimate 
witli  her  mother,  and  he  left  her  an  immense  fortune 
at  his  death.  Resemblance,  too,  must  go  for  some- 
thing ;  and  Dr.  Warner,  after  an  interview  with  Lord 
March,  says,  "  The  more  I  contemplate  his  face,  the 
more  I  am  struck  with  a  certain  likeness  to  the  lower 
part  of  it ;  his  very  chin  and  lijjs,  and  they  are  rather 
singular.  But  you  will  never  be  d' accord  upon  this 
interesting  subject,  as  I  am  sorry  to  be  tof)  much  con- 
vinced :  but  that  you  know  better  than  I."  In  con- 
sidering this  question,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that 
Selwyn's  passion  for  children  was  one  of  the  marked 
features  of  his  character.  Lord  Carlisle's  and  Lord 
Coventry's,  particularly  Lady  Anne  Coventry  (after- 
wards Lady  Anne  Foley),  were  among  his  especial 
favorites. 

Selvvyn  paid  freejucnt  visits  to  Paris,  and  spoke 
French  to  perfection.  ''  I  sliall  let  Lord  Huntingdon 
know  (says  Lord  March)  that  you  arc  thought  to  have 
a  better  prt)nimcialion  than  any  one  that  ever  came 
from  this  country."  The  queen  (;f  Louis  the  Fifteenth 
took  pleasure  in  conversing  with  him.  "  T  dined  to- 
day (wc  are  still  quoting  from  Lord  March)  al  what  is 


404  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

called  no  dinner,  at  Madame  de  Coignie's.  The  Qiieen 
asked  Madame  de  Mirepoix,  '  Si  elle  n'avait  pas  beau- 
coup  entcndu  mtidire  de  Monsieur  Selwyn  etelle?' 
Elle  a  ropondu,  '  Oui,  beaucoup,  Madame.'  'J'en 
suis  bicn-aise,'  dit  la  Reine." 

He  was  received  on  a  perfect  footing  of  equality, 
and,  as  it  were,  naturalized  in  that  brilliant  circle  of 
which  Madame  du  Deftand  was  the  centre  ;  and  he 
often  lingered  longer  in  it  than  was  agreeable  to  his 
English  friends.  "  Ladv  Hertford  (writes  Lord 
INIarch  in  1766)  made  a  thousand  inquiries  about  you  ; 
asked  how  long  you  intended  to  stay,  and  hoped  you 
would  soon  be  tired  of  blind  women,  old  presidents, 
and  premiers,"  —  alluding  to  Madame  du  Deffand,  the 
president  Henault,  and  the  Due  de  Choiseul.  Wil- 
liams sarcastically  inquires,  "  Cannot  we  get  you  an 
hospital  in  this  island,  where  you  can  pass  your  even- 
ings with  some  very  sensible  matrons?  and,  if  they  are 
not  quite  blind,  they  may  have  some  natural  infirmity 
equivalent  to  it." 

Nothing  proves  Selwyn's  real  superiority  more 
strongly  than  his  reception  in  this  brilliant  coterie, 
and  the  enjoyment  he  found  in  it ;  for  when  he  began 
making  his  periodical  visits  to  Paris,  national  preju- 
dice was  at  its  height; — the  French  regarded  the 
English  as  barbarians,  and  the  English  entertained  a 
contemptuous  aversion  for  the  French.  So  late  as 
1769,  Lord  Carlisle  thus  amusingly  alludes  to  the  sen- 
timents of  the  former  :  — 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  Mr.  Wood's  family  v/ere  splashed 
bv  the  sea.  People  who  never  travel  know  very  little  what 
dangers  we  run.     I  dare  say  most  of  your  French  acquaint- 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  405 

ances  here  wonder  30U  do  not  go  to  England  by  land,  but 
I  believe  they  are  very  easy  about  us  after  we  are  gone. 
They  think  we  are  very  little  altered  since  the  landing  of 
Julius  Caesar;  that  we" leave  our  clothes  at  Calais,  having 
no  further  occasion    for   them,  and    that    every  one  of   us 

has   a   sun-flower  cut  out  and  painted  upon   his .  like 

the  prints  in  Clarke's  Ciesar.  I  do  not  think  that  all  en- 
tertain this  idea  of  us;  I  only  mean  the  s<;avans  ;  those  who 
can  read." 

The  French  might  be  pardoned  for  supposing  that 
the  Enghsh  left  their  clothes  at  Calais,  for  the  tailors 
of  Paris  were  then  as  much  in  requisition  as  the  milli- 
ners ;  and  Selwyn  is  invariably  loaded  with  com- 
missions for  velvet  coats,  silk  small-clothes,  brocade 
dressing-gowns,  lace  ruffles,  and  various  other  arti- 
cles, by  the  gravest  as  well  as  the  gayest  of  his 
friends.  As  for  the  notion  of  reaching  England  by 
land^  geography  and  the  tise  of  the  globes  were  rare 
accomplishments  in  ho\\\  countries.  When  Whiston 
foretold  the  destruction  of  the  world  within  three 
years,  the  Duchess  of  Bolton  avowed  an  intention 
of  escaping  the  cominon  ruin  by  going  to  China. 

Selwyn  not  only  overcame  the  national  prejudice 
in  his  own  individual  instance,  but  paved  the  way 
for  the  reception  of  his  friends.  It  was  lie  who 
made  Horace  Walpole  acquainted  with  Madame  du 
Dcfland,  and  (iibbon  with  Madame  de  GeollViu. 

Ilis  habit  of  do/.ing  in  the  House  of  Commons 
has  been  already  noticed.  He  occasionally  dozed  in 
society.  "  We  hear,"  says  Williams,  "  of  your  fall- 
ing asleep  standing  at  the  old  President's  (He- 
nault's),  and  knocking  him  and  three  more  old  wo- 
men into  the  fire.  Are  these  things  true?"  Wal- 
pole also  hints  at  it.      ''  Whf-n  you   have  a  f|uartcr 


4o6  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

of  an  hour,  awake  and  to  spare,  I  wish  you  would 
bestow  it  on  me."  He  is  by  no  means  singular,  as 
might  be  shown  by  many  remarkable  instances  be- 
sides that  of  Lord  North,  who,  according  to  Gib- 
bon, '•  might  well  indulge  a  short  slumber  on  the 
treasury  bench,  when  supported  by  the  majestic 
sense  of  Thurlow  on  the  one  side,  and  the  skilful 
eloquence  of  Weddcrburne  on  the  other."  Lord 
Byron,  in  one  of  his  journals,  records  a  dinner  party 
of  twelve,  including  Sheridan,  Tierney,  and  Erskine, 
of  whom  five  were  fast  asleep  before  the  dessert  was 
well  upon  the  table.  In  another,  he  relates,  "  At 
the  opposition  meeting  of  the  peers  in  1S12,  at  Lord 
Grenville's,  where  Lord  Grey  and  he  read  to  us  the 
correspondence  upon  Moira's  negotiation,  I  sat  next 
to  the  present  Duke  of  Grafton,  and  said,  'What  is 
to  be  done  next?'  '  Wake  the  Duke  of  Norfolk^ 
(who  was  snoring  away  near  us),  replied  he;  'I 
don't  think  the  negotiators  have  left  anything  else 
for  us  to  do  this  turn.' "  Considering  the  hours  kept 
by  modern  wits  and  senators,  they  may  be  excused 
for  dropping  into  a  pleasing  state  of  forgetfulness 
occasionally  ;  but  Selwyn  had  no  such  excuse.  His 
mode  of  life  is  exhibited  in  a  droll  sketch,  in  a  let- 
ter to  himself,  Avritten  by  Lord  Carlisle  at  Spa,  in 
176S.  "I  rise  at  six;  am  on  horseback  till  break- 
fast; play  at  cricket  till  dinner;  and  dance  in  the 
evening  till  I  can  scarce  crawl  to  bed  at  eleven. 
There  is  a  life  for  }ou  !  You  get  up  at  nine;  play 
with  Raton  till  twelve  in  your  night-gown ;  then 
creep  down  to  White's  to  abuse  Fanshawe  ;  are  five 
hours  at  table  ;  sleep  till  you  can  escape  your  sup- 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  407 

per  reckoning ;  then  make  two  wretches  carry  you, 
witli  three  pints  of  claret  in  you,  three  miles  for  a 
shilling." 

Wits  are  seldom  given  to  ruralities.  Jekyll  used 
to  say  that,  if  compelled  to  live  in  the  countr}',  he 
would  have  the  road  before  his  door  paved  like  a 
street,  and  hire  a  hackney  coach  to  drive  up  and 
down  all  day  long.  Selwyn  partook  largely  of  this 
feeling.  The  state  of  a  gentleman's  cellar  was  then, 
whatever  it  may  be  now,  a  f:iir  indication  of  the 
use  he  made  of  his  house,  and  Alatson  was  very 
slenderly  stocked.  When  Gilly  Williams  took  up  his 
quarters  there  in  passing  through  Gloucester,  he 
writes,  "  I  asked  Bell  to  dine  here,  but  he  is  too 
weak  to  venture  so  tar;  so  the  Methodist  and  I  will 
taste  your  new  and  old  claret.  I  have  been  down 
in  the  cellar:  there  arc  about  nine  bottles  of  old, 
and  five  dozen  of  new."  Yet  Matson  was  a  highly 
agreeable  residence,  charmingly  situated,  and  rich 
in  historical  associations.  Charles  the  Second  and 
James  the  Second  (both  boys  at  the  time)  were 
quartered  there  during  the  siege  of  Gloucester  by  the 
Royalists  in  1643  ;  and  they  amused  themselves  by 
cutting  out  their  names,  with  various  irregular  em- 
blazonments, on  the  window-shulters. 

During  one  of  his  brief  electioneering  vigils  at 
Matson,  Selwyn  took  it  into  his  head  to  perform 
justicesliip  ;  for  (as  Fielding  observes  with  icfercncc 
to  the  similar  attempt  on  the  ]);ut  of  S(|uiie  \\'es- 
tcrn),  it  was,  indeed,  a  syllable  more  than  justice. 
"  What  the  devil,"  exclaims  Gilly  Williams,  "could 
tempt  vou   to  act  as  justice  of    the  peace?     This  is 


4oS  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

Trapolin  with  a  vengeance  !  What!  evidence,  party, 
and  judge  too  !  If  you  do  not  make  it  up  with  the 
man  soon,  some  rogue  of  an  attorney  will  plague 
your  heart  out  in  the  King's  Bench."  His  gardener 
had  been  guilty  of  some  peculation,  for  which  Sel- 
wyn,  without  ceremony,  committed  him. 

A  little  over-eagerness  might  be  excused,  as  one 
of  his  strongest  peculiarities  was  a  passion  for  the 
details  of  criminal  justice,  from  the  warrant  to  the 
rope.  His  friends  made  a  point  of  gratifying  it  by 
sending  the  earliest  intelligence  of  remarkable  crimes, 
criminals,  trials,  and  executions,  as  well  as  every 
anecdote  they  could  collect  concerning  them.  When 
Walpole's  house  in  Arlington  Street  was  broken 
open,  his  first  care,  after  securing  the  robber,  was 
to  send  for  Selwyn.  "  I  despatched  a  courier  to 
White's  for  George,  who,  you  know,  loves  nothing 
upon  earth  so  well  as  a  criminal,  except  the  exe- 
cution of  him.  It  happened  very  luckily  that  the 
drawer  who  received  my  message  has  very  lately 
been  robbed  himself,  and  liad  the  wound  fresh  in  his 
memory.  He  stalked  up  into  the  club-room,  stopped 
short,  and  with  a  hollow,  trembling  voice  said,  '  Mr. 
Selwyn,  Mr.  Walpole's  compliments,  and  he's  got  a 
housebreaker  for  you.'"  Gilly  Williams,  having  no 
housebreaker  for  him,  sends  him  a  story  about  one 
instead :  "  I  will  give  you  a  Newgate  anecdote, 
which  I  had  from  a  gentleman  who  called  on 
P.  Lewis  the  night  before  the  execution,  and  heard 
one  runner  call  to  another  and  order  a  chicken 
boiled  for  Rice's  supper ;  '  but,'  says  he,  '  you  need 
not    be  curious    about    the    sauce,  for    he   is    to   be 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  409 

hanged  to-morrow.'  '  That  is  true,"  says  the  other, 
*■  but  the  ordinary  sups  with  liim,  and  you  know  he 
is  a  devil  of  a  fellow  for  butter.'  If  the  continental 
air  has  not  altered  you,  this  will  please  you  ;  at  least 
I  have  known  the  time  when  you  have  gone  a  good 
way  for  such  a  morsel." 

The  best  stories  regarding  his  taste  for  executions 
are  related  by  Walpole,  and  well  known.  Innumer- 
able are  the  jokes  levelled  at  him  for  this  peculiarity. 
The  best  is  the  first  Lord  Holland's,  who  was  dying. 
"  The  next  time  Mr.  Selwyn  calls,  show  him  up.  If 
I  am  alive,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  see  him  ;  and  if  I 
am  dead,  he  will  be  glad  to  see  me."  Lord  Hol- 
land was  not  the  only  statesman  of  the  period  who 
could  joke  under  such  circumstances.  Mr.  Legge 
(the  story  is  Gilly  Williams's)  told  a  very  fat  fellow 
who  came  to  see  him  the  day  he  died,  "  Sir,  you  are 
a  great  weight ;  but,  let  me  tell  you,  you  are  in  at  tiie 
death."  Another  of  the  same  gentleman's  stories  is 
probably  meant  as  a  warning —  "  I  remember  a  man 
seeing  a  military  execution  in  Hyde  Park,  and  when 
it  was  over  he  turned  about  and  said,  '  By  G — ,  I 
thought  there  was  more  in  it !  '  lie  shot  himself  tlie 
next  morning." 

Tiic  writer  of  a  Icltcrr  in  the  Gentleman's  Maga- 
zine, for  April,  1791,  supposed  to  be  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Warner,  makes  a  gallant  eflbrt  to  rescue  Selwyn's 
memory  from  wliat  he  terms  an  unjust  and  injurious 
imputation.  After  mging  that  nothing  could  be  more 
abhorrent  from  Selwyn's  character,  and  tliat  he  had 
the  most  tender  and  benevolent  of  hearts,  he  thus  pro- 
ceeds :    "  This   idle   but   wide-spread  idea  of  his  be- 


4IO  THE    WISHING-OAP    PAPERS. 

ing  fond  of  executions  (of  which  he  never  in  his  hfe 
attended  but  at  one,  and  that  rather  accidentally  from 
its  lying  in  his  way,  than  from  design)  arose  from 
the  pleasantries  which  it  pleased  Sir  Charles  Hanbury 
Williams,  and  the  then  Lord  Chesterfield,  to  propa- 
gate from  that  one  attendance,  for  the  amusement  of 
their  common  friends.  Of  the  easiness  with  which  such 
things  sat  upon  him,  you  may  judge  from  the  follow- 
ing circumstance,  which  I  have  heard  him  more  than 
once  relate.  Sir  Charles  was  telling  a  large  company 
a  similar  story  to  that  of  his  attending  upon  executions, 
with  many  strokes  of  rich  humor  received  with  great 
glee,  before  his  face,  when  a  gentleman  who  sat  next 
to  the  object  of  their  mirth,  said  to  him  in  a  low  voice, 
'  It  is  strange,  George,  so  intimate  as  we  are,  that 
I  should  never  have  heard  of  this  story  before.'  'Not 
at  all  strange,'  he  replied  in  the  same  voice,  '  for  Sir 
Charles  has  just  invented  it,  and  knows  that  I  will  not, 
by  contradiction,  spoil  the  pleasure  of  the  company 
he  is  so  highly  entertaining.'  And  such  was  his  good- 
nature in  everything."  This  may  account  for  the  pleas- 
antries, btit  hardly  for  the  facts  stated  by  Walpole  and 
others ;  or  for  such  an  epistle  as  the  following : 
"  I  can  with  great  pleasure  inform  you,  my  dear 
Selwyn,  that  the  head  is  ordered  to  be  delivered  on 
the  first  application  made  on  your  part.  The  ex- 
pense is  a  little  more  than  a  guinea ;  the  person 
who  calls  should  pay  for  it.  Adieu,  mon  cher  mon- 
dain.     T,  Phillips." 

As  to  tenderness  and  benevolence,  there  surely  was 
no  necessity  for  assuming  that  the  taste  in  question 
'vas  irreconcilable  with  such  qualities.     It  was  simply 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  4I  I 

a  cravins  for  strong  excitement ;  a  modification  of 
the  feeling  which  still  induces  the  Spanish  women  to 
attend  bull-fights,  and  formerly  lured  the  gentlest  and 
noblest  of  the  sex  to  tournainents.  Moreover,  people 
were  by  no  means  so  refined  or  squeamish  in  Sel- 
wyn's  time  as  now.  when  the  spectacle  of  blood) 
heads  over  Temple  Bar  would  not  be  tolerated  for  ar 
hour.  Crowds  of  all  classes  pressed  round  to  gaze  ov, 
those  of  the  rebel  lords  in  1746  ;  and  telescopes  were 
fixed  for  the  use  of  the  curious  at  a  halfpenny  a  peep. 
"  I  remember "  says  Johnson,  as  reported  by  Bos- 
well,  "once  being  with  Goldsmith  in  Westminster 
Abbey.  While  we  sur\'eyed  the  Poets'  Corner,  I 
said  to   him,  — 

'Forsitan  et  Domcn  nostrum  miscebitur  islis.' 

When  we  got  to  Temple  Bar,  he  stopped  me,  point- 
ed to  the  heads  upon  it,  and  slyly  whispered  me,  — 

'  Forsiun  et  nomen  nostrum  miscebitur  isiis.'  " 

Nay,  not  much  more  tlian  twenty  years  ago,  it  was 
customary  for  the  governor  of  Newgate  to  give  a 
breakfast  to  thirteen  or  fourteen  persons  of  distinction 
on  the  morning  of  an  execution.  The  party  attended 
the  hanging,  breakfasted,  and  then  attended  the  cut- 
ting down,  but  few  had  any  appetite  for  the  second 
and  third  parts  of  the  ceremonial.  A  very  pretty 
girl  (the  governor's  daughter,  we  believe),  who 
spoke  of  the  sufTerers  as  "  our  fcoplc"  distributed 
the  tea  and  colTec.  She  assured  us,  in  confidence, 
that  the  first  call  of  the  incipient  amateur  was  invari- 
ably for  brandy  ;   and   tliat   the   only  guest  who  never 


412  THE    VVISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

failed  to  do  justice   to  the  broiled  kidneys  (for  which 
she  was  famous)  was  the  ordinary. 

Storer  (one  of  the  Selwyn  set)  writes  in  i774i 
*•'  You  will  get  by  your  edition  of  Madame  de  Se- 
\  i^jne's  Letters  enough  to  pay  for  as  much  Vifi  de 
(rrave  as  ever  she  drank  en  Bretagne."  Selwyn 
rivalled,  or  outran  Walpole  in  his  admiration  of  Ma- 
dame de  Sevigne,  and  paid  a  visit  to  her  residence, 
Les  Rockers  (excellently  described,  as  at  present 
existing,  in  Lady  Morgan's  "  Book  of  the  Boudoir;  ") 
but  we  find  no  other  proof  of  direct  literary  intentions 
on  his  part ;  and  there  is  consequently  no  ground  for 
disputing  the  applicability  of  the  remark  with  which 
Mr.  Jesse  introduces  the  topic  of  his  wit:  — 

"  Perhaps  no  individual  has  ever  acquired  so  general  a 
reputation  for  mere  wit  as  George  Selwyn.  Villiers,  Duke 
of  Buckingham,  Lords  Dorset,  Rochester,  Chesterfield,  and 
Hervey,  Sir  Charles  Ilanburj  Williams,  Bubb  Doddington, 
Sheridan,  and  (perhaps  the  most  brilliant  luminary  in  this 
galaxy  of  wit)  the  late  Theodore  Hook,  were  men  who 
had,  one  and  all,  distinguished  themselves  in  following  the 
paths  of  literature,  while  more  than  one  of  them  had  ren- 
dered himself  eminent  in  the  senate.  Thus  the  character 
which  each  maintained  for  wit  was  supported  by  the  adven- 
titious aid  of  a  rejiutation  for  literary  or  oratorical  talents, 
while  the  fame  of  George  Selwyn  stands  exclusively  on  his 
character  for  social  pleasantry  and  conversational  wit." 

Not  quite,  we  must  observe.  It  stood  also  on  his 
three  seats  in  Parliament,  and  his  family  connections. 
These,  at  the  very  outset,  procured  him  that  vantage- 
ground  to  which  Sheridan  and  Hook  were  obliged 
to  win  their  way  at  the  risk  of  fretting  a  thousand 
vanities.  This  •  may  not  apply  to  the  rest  on  Mr. 
Jesse's  list ;  but  then  it  is  a  very  imperfect  one,  and 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  413  - 

admits  of  large  additions  —  as  (omitting  all  living  ex- 
amples) Foote,  Wilkes,  Jekj-ll,  Cnrran,  Colman. 

Dr.  Johnson  disliked  Foote;  but  when  one  of  the 
company,  at  a  dinner  party  at  Dilly's,  called  him  a 
merry-andrew,  a  butVoon,  the  sage  at  once  declared 
that  he  had  wit,  and  added,  "The  first  time  I  was 
in  company  with  Foote  w\as  at  Fitzherbert's.  Hav- 
ing no  good  opinion  of  the  fellow,  I  was  resolved 
not  to  be  pleased  ;  and  it  is  very  difficult  to  please 
a  man  against  his  will.  I  went  on  taking  my  din- 
ner pretty  sullenly,  affecting  not  to  mind  him.  But 
the  dog  was  so  very  comical,  that  I  was  obliged  to 
lay  down  my  knife  and  fork,  throw  myself  back  on 
my  chair,  and  fairly  laugh  it  out.  No,  sir,  he  was 
irresistible."  It  was  said  to  be  impossible  to  take 
Foote  unawares,  or  put  him  out.  As  he  was  tell- 
itig  a  story  at  a  fine  dinner  party,  a  gentleman,  to 
try  him,  pulled  him  by  the  coat-tail,  and  told  him 
tliat  his  handkerchief  was  hanging  out.  "  Thank  you, 
sir,"  said  Foote,  replacing  it,  ''  you  know  the  com- 
pany better  than  I  do,"  and  went  on  with  his  story. 

Wilkes's  fame  may  be  rested  on  his  reply  to  Lord 
Sandwich,  and  his  fling  at  Thurlow.  Jekyll  needs 
no  trumpeter.  Lord  Byron  says  of  Colman,  "  If 
I  had  to  choose,  and  could  not  have  both  at  a  time, 
I  would  say,  '  Let  me  begin  the  evening  with  .Sheri- 
dan, and  finish  it  with  Colman.'  "  Of  Curran  he 
says,  "  I  have  met  him  at  IlcjUand  House  ;  he  l)cats 
everybody  —  his  imagination  is  beyond  lunnan,  and 
his  luMuor  (it  is  diificult  to  tieline  wiiat  is  wit)  per- 
fect. Then  he  has  fifty  faces,  and  twice  as  many 
voices,  when   he   mimics."     Tiiis,  we   may  add,  was 


414  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

Hook's  great  charm.  His  best  stories  were  dramatic 
representations  a  la  Mathews^  little  inferior  to  that 
fine  observer's  "  At  Homes." 

Why,  again,  since  Mr.  Jesse  has  gone  back  so  far, 
did  he  not  go  back  a  little  farther,  and  mention  the 
old  Earl  of  Norwich  —  a  singular  illustration  of  the 
fickleness  of  taste,  and  the  truth  of  the  maxim, 
"  A  jest's  prosperity  lies  in  the  ear  of  him  who  hears 
it."  He  was  the  acknowledged  wit  of  Charles  the 
First's  court,  but  was  voted  a  dead  bore  when  he 
attempted  to  resume  his  wonted  place  at  Whitehall, 
after  the  Restoration. 

It  should  be  remembered,  moreover  —  to  be  placed 
on  the  opposite  column  of  the  account  —  that  high 
reputation  in  one  line  may  sometimes  prevent  a  man 
from  acquiring  much  in  another;  not  merely  because 
of  the  prevalent  dislike  to  pluralities,  but  because 
the  less  is  merged  in  the  greater.  Thus  it  was  ad- 
mirably said  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  by  the  Rev. 
Sydney  Smith,  "  that  he  had  not  only  humor,  but 
wit  also  ;  at  least,  new  and  sudden  relations  of  ideas 
flashed  across  his  mind  in  reasoning,  and  produced 
the  same  effect  as  wit,  and  would  have  been  called 
wit,  if  a  sense  of  their  utility  and  importance  had 
not  often  overpowered  the  admiration  of  novelty'' 
Wilberforce,  speaking  of  Pitt,  said,  "  He  was  the  wit- 
tiest man  I  ever  knew,  and  (what  was  quite  peculiar 
to  himself)  had  at  all  times  his  wit  under  entire 
control.  Others  appeared  struck  by  the  unwonted 
association  of  brilliant  images,  but  every  possible 
combination  of  ideas  seemed  always  present  to  his 
mind,  and  he  could  at  once  produce  whatever  he  de- 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  4x5 

sired.  I  was  one  of  those  who  met  to  spend  an  even- 
ing in  memory  of  Shakespeare,  at  the  Boar's  Head, 
Eastcheap.  Many  professed  wits  were  present,  but 
Pitt  was  the  most  amusing  of  the  party,  and  the  readi- 
est and  most  apt  in  the  required  allusions." 

In  addition  to  Selwyn's  other  places,  the  voice  of 
his  contemporaries  conferred  on  him  that  of  receiver 
general  of  waif  and  stray  jokes  —  a  sufficient  proof 
that  he  had  plenty  of  his  own  ;  for  as  D'Alembert 
sarcastically  observed  to  the  Abbe  Voisenan,  who 
complained  that  he  was  unduly  charged  with  the 
absurd  sayings  of  others  "  Monsieur  V Abbiy  on  tie 
prtte  qiiatix  riches''  Selwyn's  droits^  in  respect 
of  his  anomalous  office,  were  not  limited  to  the  clubs. 
Lord  Holland  writes  \\\  1770,  '•  As  the  newspapers 
impute  .so  much  wit  to  you,  I  hope  they  give  you 
the  invention  of  that  pretty  motto  they  have  put  upon 
Lord  Carlisle's  cap."  Lord  Carlisle,  in  1776  — 
"  What  the  witty  Mr.  G.  S.  says  in  the  newspapers 
is  admirable  abrnit  the  red-hot  poker,  though  1  like 
Diis  plaaiit  belter."  Lord  Marcli,  in  1767  —  "  The 
king  talked  of  you  at  his  dressing,  and  told  me 
something  that  you  had  said  of  the  Macaronis  that 
he  thought  very  good."  It  was  Mr.  Jesse's  duty  as 
editor  to  find  out  what  these  good  things  were  ;  but 
he  leaves  us  in  entire  ignorance  regarding  tiiLiii.  At 
the  same  time,  we  must  do  liim  the  justice  to  say, 
that  he  lias  brought  together  quite  enough  to  support 
.Selwyn's  reputation,  and  render  superniif)us  tiie  gen- 
erally just  remark  with  which  he  prefaces  them.  "  No 
task  can  be  more  disappointing  in  its  result  (I:aii 
that   of  collecting  the  scattered    bon-mots  of   a   ni.ui 


4l6  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

of  professed  wit,  with  a  view  to  prove  that  his  rep- 
utation is  well  deserved.  Many  of  his  best  sayings 
have,  probably,  been  lost  to  us ;  others,  perhaps, 
have  suflered  in  the  narrative  ;  and,  moreover,  the 
charm  of  manner,  wliich  must  greatly  have  enhanced 
their  value  at  the  moment  they  were  uttered,  can 
now,  of  course,  only  be  taken  on  credit." 

According  to  Walpole,  it  was  Selwyn's  habit  to 
turn  up  the  whites  of  his  eyes,  and  assume  'an  ex- 
pression of  demureness,  when  giving  utterance  to 
a  droll  thought ;  and  Wraxall  says,  that  the  effect 
of  his  witticisms  was  greatly  enhanced  by  his  listless, 
di'owsy  manner.  Nor  is  this  all.  What  makes  a 
man  like  Selwyn  the  delight  of  his  contemporaries, 
is  that  lightness,  richness,  and  elasticity  of  mind, 
which  invests  the  commonest  incidents  with  amus- 
ing or  inspiriting  associations,  lights  intuitively  on 
the  most  attractive  topics,  grasps  them  one  moment, 
lets  them  go  the  next,  and,  in  a  word,  never  suffers 
companionship  to  become  tiresome,  or  conversation 
to  grow  dull.  lie  may  do  this  without  uttering  any- 
thing that  will  be  generally  recognized  as  wit. 

We  shall  here  quote  some  of  the  best  of  Selwyn's 
witticisms  and  pleasantries  :  they  occupy  little  room, 
and  there  is  nothing  more  provoking  than  to  be  told 
of  "  the  well-known  anecdote  "  which  one  does  not 
know. 

When  a  subscription  was  proposed  for  Fox,  and 
some  one  was  observing  that  it  would  require  somfe 
delicacy,  and  vvondcring  how  Fox  would  take  it,  — 
"  Take  it?     Why,  quarterly^  to  be  sure." 

When  one  of  tlie  Foley  family  crossed  the  Chan- 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  417 

nel  to  avoid  his  creditors  —  "It  is  a  pass  over  that 
will  not  be  much  i-elished  by  the  Jews." 

When  Fox  was  boasting  of  having  prevailed  on 
the  French  court  to  give  up  the  gum  trade — "  As 
you  have  permitted  the  French  to  draw  your  teeth^ 
they  would  be  fools,  indeed,  to  quarrel  with  you 
about  your  giunsT 

When  Walpole,  in  allusion  to  the  sameness  of  the 
system  of  politics  continued  in  tlie  reign  of  George 
the  Third,  observed,  "  But  there  is  nothing  new  un- 
der the  sun."  "  No,"  said  Sclwyn,  "  nor  under  the 
grandson."  One  night,  at  White's,  observing  the 
postmaster-general.  Sir  Everard  Fawkener,  losing  a 
large  sum  of  money  at  piquet,  Sclwyn,  pointing  to 
the  successful  player,  remarked,  "  See  how  he  is 
robbing  the  mail !  " 

On  another  occasion,  in  1756,  observing  Mr.  Fon- 
sonby,  the  Speaker  of  the  Irish  House  of  Commons, 
tossing  about  bank  bills  at  a  hazard  table  at  New- 
market—  ''Look  how  easily  the  speaker  passes  the 
money  bills." 

The  beautiful  Lady  Coventry  was  exhibiting  to 
him  a  splendid  new  dress,  covered  with  large  silver 
spangles,  the  size  of  a  shilling,  and  inquired  of  him 
whether  he  admired  her  taste,  "  Wliy,"  he  saiil, 
••  you  will  be  chayigc  for  a  guinea." 

This  bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  one  of  Lortl 
Mansfield's  judicial  pleasantries.  Serjeant  Davy  was 
cross-examining  a  Jew  at  great  length,  in  order  to 
prove  his  insufficiency  as  bail.  Tiie  sum  was  small, 
and  the  Jew  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  clothes  bedizeneil 
with  silver  lace.     Lord  Mansiicid  at  length  intcrf'.'red 

27 


4l8  THE  WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

—  "Come,  come,  brother  Davy,  don't  you  see  the 
man  would  burn  for  the  money?" 

At  the  sale  of  the  effects  of  the  minister,  Mr.  Pel- 
ham,  Scl\v\n,  pointing  to  a  silver  dinner-service,  ob- 
served, ''  Lord,  how  many  toads  have  been  eaten  off 
these  plates  !  " 

A  namesake  of  Charles  Fox  having  been  hung  at 
Tyburn,  Fox  inquired  of  Selwyn  whether  he  had  at- 
tended the  execution  —  "  No,  I  make  a  point  of  never 
frequenting  rehearsals!" 

A  fellow-passenger  in  a  coach,  imagining  from  his 
appearance  that  he  was  suffering  from  illness,  kept 
wearying  him  with  good-natured  inquiries  as  to  the 
state  of  his  health.  At  length,  to  the  repeated  ques- 
tion of  "  IIow  arc  you  now,  sir?"  Selwyn  replied, 
"Very  well,  I  thank  you  ;  and  I  mean  to  continue  so 
for  the  i-est  of  the  journey." 

He  was  one  day  walking  with  Lord  Pembroke, 
when  they  were  besieged  by  a  number  of  young  chim- 
ney-sweepers, who  kept  plaguing  them  for  money. 
At  length  Selwyn  made  them  a  low  bow.  "I  have 
often,"  he  said,  "  heard  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  peo- 
ple ;  I  suppose  3'our  Highnesses  are  in  court  mourn- 
ing." 

"On  Sunday  last,"  says  Walpole,  "George  Selwyn  was 
strolling  home  to  dinner  at  half  an  hour  after  four.  He  saw 
my  Lady  Townshend's  coach  stop  at  Caraccioli's  chapel. 
He  watched,  saw  her  go  in;  iier  footman  laughed;  he  fol- 
lowed. She  went  up  to  the  altar,  a  woman  brought  her  a 
cushion;  she  knelt,  crossed  herself,  and  prayed.  He  stole 
up  and  knelt  by  her.  Conceive  her  face,  if  you  can,  when 
she  turned  and  found  him  close  to  her.  In  his  demure 
voice  he  said,  '  Pray,  madam,  how  long  has  yo\x\-  ladyship 
left  the  pale  of  our  church?'  She  looked  furious,  and  made 
no  answer.     Next  day  he  went  to  her,  and  she  turned  it  off 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  419 

upon  curiositv;  but  is  anything  more  natural?  No,  she  cer- 
tainly means  to  go  armed  with  every  viaticum;  the  Church 
of  England  in  one  hand,  Methodism  in  the  other,  and  the 
Host  in  her  mouth." 

Wraxall  stands  godfather  to  the  next :  — 

"  The  late  Duke  of  Qiicensberry,  wlio  lived  in  the  most 
intimate  friendship  with  him,  told  me  that  Sehvyn  was  pres- 
ent at  a  public  dinner  with  the  mayor  and  corporation  of 
Gloucester,  in  the  year  175S,  when  the  intelligence  arrived 
of  our  expedition  having  failed  before  Rochfort.  The  may- 
or, turning  to  Sehvyn,  'You,  sir,'  said  he,  'who  are  in  the 
ministerial  secrets,  can,  no  doubt,  inform  us  of  the  cause  of 
this  misfortune. '  Sehvyn,  though  utterly  ignorant  on  the 
subject,  yet  unable  to  resist  the  occasion  of  amusing  him- 
self at  the  inquirer's  expense — '1  will  tell  you,  in  confi- 
dence, the  reason,  .Mr.  Mayor,'  answered  he;  '  the  fact  is.  that 
the  scaling-ladders  prepared  for  the  occasion  were  found,  on 
trial,  to  be  too  short.'  This  solution,  which  suggested  itself 
to  him  at  the  moment,  was  considered  by  the  mayor  to  be 
perfectly  explanatory  of  the  failure,  and  as  such  he  com- 
municated it  to  all  his  frieniis  —  not  being  aware,  though 
Selwyn  was,  that  Rochfurt  lies  on  the  River  Charente,  some 
leagues  from  the  sea-shore,  and  that  our  troops  had  never 
even  effected  a  landing  on  the  French  coast." 

Mr.Jcs.se  has  omitted  the  capital  reply  to  the  man, 
who,  being  cut  by  Sehvyn  in  London,  came  up  and 
reminded  him  that  they  had  been  acquainted  at  Bath. 
'•  I  remember  it  very  well ;  and  when  we  next  meet 
at  Bath,  I  shall  be  happy  to  meet  you  again." 

Once,  and  once  only,  was  he  guilty  of  verse  — 

Oh  a  Pair  0/  Shoes  found  in  a  Lady's  Bed. 

"Well  may  sutpicifin  shake  its  hcid, 

Well  m.iy  Clarind.i'ii  spouse  he  jcalousi, 
When  llic  <lcar  wanton  taken  to  bed 
Her  very  nhocs  because  they're  fclluwB." 

Selwyn  died  at  his  house  in  Cleaveland  Row,  Jan- 
uary 25,  1 791.  He  had  been  for  many  years  a  severe 
sufferer  from  gout  and  dropsy  ;  and  Wilberforce  de- 


420  THE    WISIIING-CAP    PAPERS. 

scribes  him  as  looking  latterly  like  the  wax  figure  of 
a  corpse.  He  continued  to  haunt  the  clubs  till  within 
a  short  period  before  his  death  ;  but  Mr.  Jesse  assures 
us  that  he  died  penitent,  and  that  the  Bible  was  fre- 
quently read  to  him  at  his  own  request  during  his  last 
illness.  By  his  will  he  gave  thirty-three  thousand 
pounds  to  Maria  Fagniani ;  one  hundred  pounds  each 
to  his  two  nephews ;  his  wardrobe  and  thirty  pounds 
a  year  to  his  valet ;  and  the  residue  of  his  property  to 
the  Duke  of  Qiieensberry,  with  the  exception  of  Lud- 
gershall,  which  was  entailed  on  the  Townshend  fami- 
ly. Mr.  Jesse  quotes  some  lines  from  a  poetical 
tribute  published  soon  after  his  death,  in  which  the 
Graces  are  invoked  to  fulfil  several  ajjprojDriate  du- 
ties :  — 

"  And  fondly  dictate  to  a  faithful  Muse 
The  prime  distinction  of  the  friend  they  lose. 
'Twas  social  wit,  which,  never  kindling  strife. 
Blazed  in  the  small,  sweet  courtesies  of  life." 

Had  we  been  at  the  writer's  elbow,  we  should  have 
suggested  sJione  or  glowed  in  preference  to  blazed. 

Walpole,  writing  to  Miss  Berry,  on  the  day  of  Sel- 
wyn's  death,  says,  "I  am  on  the  point  of  losing,  or 
have  lost,  my  oldest  acquaintance  and  friend,  George 
Selwyn,  who  was  yesterday  at  the  extremity.  These 
misfortunes,  though  they  can  be  so  but  for  a  short 
time,  are  very  sensible  to  the  old:  but  him  I  really 
loved,  not  only  for  his  infinite  wit,  but  for  a  thousand 
good  qualities." 

Again:  "Poor  Selwyn  is  gone,  to  my  sorrow: 
and  no  wonder  Ucalegon  feels  it !  " 

The  heartlessness  of  the  French  set  to  which  Sel- 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  42 1 

wyn  and  Walpole  belonged  is  beyond  a  question. 
Madame  du  Deffand's  colloquy  with  one  lover,  as  to 
the  cause  of  their  fifty  years'  unbroken  harmony,  and 
her  behavior  on  the  death  of  another,  are  not  invented 
pleasantries,  but  melancholy  facts.  Yet  either  we 
were  wrong  in  supposing  that  the  malady  was  in- 
fectious, and  Miss  Berry  was  right  in  licr  generous 
and  able  vindication  of  her  friend,  or  Selwyn  pos- 
sessed the  peculiar  talismanic  power  of  kindling  and 
fixing  the  affections  of  his  associates  ;  for  not  only 
does  Walpole  invariably  mention  him  when  living, 
and  mourn  .over  hiin  when  dead,  in  terms  of  heartfelt 
sincerity,  but  the  same  influence  appears  to  have 
operated  on  one  whom  (possibly  with  equal  injus- 
tice) we  should  have  subpected  of  being,  in  his  own 
despite,  a  little  hardened  by  a  long  course  of  selfish 
indulgences  —  Lord  March.  Here  are  a  few,  and  but 
a  few,  of  the  proofs  :  — 

"  As  to  your  banker,"  s.iys  his  lordship,  "  I  will  call  there 
to-morrow;  make  ^ourseil"  easy  about  that,  for  I  have  three 
thousand  pounds  now  at  Coutts'.  There  will  be  no  bank- 
ruptcy witiioiit  we  art:  both  ruined  at  the  same  time.  How 
can  you  think,  my  dear  Georije.  —  and  I  hope  you  do  not 
think, —  that  anybody,  or  anytliini^,  can  make  a  trarasscrie 
between  you  and  u\c\  I  take  it  ill  that  you  even  talk  of  it, 
which  you  do  in  the  letter  I  had  by  Liponier.  I  must  be 
the  pooreRt  creature  upon  earth, —  alter  havint;  known  you 
BO  lonjj,  and  always  as  the  best  and  sincerest  friend  that  any 
one  ever  had. —  if  any  one  alive  can  make  any  impression 
upon  me  when  you  .-ire  concerned.  I  told  you,  in  a  letter  some 
time  ayo,  that  1  depended  iitt)re  upon  the  continuance  of  our 
friendship  tlian  anythinj^  else  in  tiie  world,  which  I  certainly 
do,  because  I  have  so  many  reasons  to  know  you,  and  I  am 
fcurc  I  know  myself." 

This  speaks  well  for  Ijoth  head  and  heart:  and 
how  much  unhappincss  would  be  prevented  by  ihc 


422  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

universal  adoption  of  the  principle  —  never  to  listen 
to,  much  less  believe,  the  alleged  unkindness  of  a 
friend.  All  of  us  have  our  dissatisfied,  complaining, 
vincongenial  moments,  when  w^e  may  let  drop  words 
utterly  at  variance  with  the  habitual  suggestions  of 
our  hearts.  These  are  repeated  from  design  or  care- 
lessness ;  then  come  complaints  and  explanations ; 
confidence  is  destroyed  ;  ''  the  credulous  hope  of  mu- 
tual minds  is  over  ;  "  and  thus  ends  at  once  the  solace 
of  a  life. 

Lord  March's  letters  are,  on  the  v/hole,  the  most 
valuable  in  the  collection  —  most  characteristic  of  the  ■ 
writer,  and  most  redolent  of  the  times.  This  unfold- 
ing of  his  private  relations  and  inmost  feelings  is 
highly  favorable  to  him.  As  we  see  him  now,  he  is 
the  very  impersonation  of  his  class  —  shrewd,  sensi- 
ble, observing,  generous,  and  affectionate,  amid  all 
his  profligacy  ;  with  talents  uncultivated,  because  cul- 
tivation was  not  the  passion  of  that  age,  but  amply 
sufficient  to  make  him  a  president  of  the  council  en- 
first  lord  of  the  admiralty  in  this.  His  letters  are 
dashed  ofl"  in  clear,  manly,  unaffected  language,  on 
the  spur  of  the  occasion  ;  and  though  they  are  ac- 
tuallv  better  written  than  tliose  of  many  of  his  noble 
contemporaries  who  pretended  to  literature,  it  is  ob- 
vious that  the  last  thing  he  ever  thought  of  was  the 
style.  Walpole's  are  epistolary  compositions  ;  Lord 
ISIarch's  are  letters  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the 
term.  In  their  pregnant  brevity,  they  often  resemble 
Swift's  hasty  dottings  down  of  public  events,  or  pri- 
vate chit-chat  in  the  journal  to  Stella. 


ESSAYS    AXD    SKETCHES.  ^IT, 

"  November,  1766. 
"My  dear  George:  I  intended  to  have  written  to  you 
last  Tuesday,  but  we  sat  so  late  at  the  House  of  Lords  that 
I  had  no  time.  It  was  a  dull  debate,  though  it  lasted  a  great 
while.  Lord  Chatham  spoke  very  well,  and  with  a  great 
deal  of  temper,  and  great  civility  towards  the  Duke  of  Bed- 
ford;  who  spoke  and  approved  of  the  measure  at  the  time 
of  laving  the  embargo,  because  of  the  necessity;  but  com- 
plained of  Parliament  not  being  called  sooner,  because  what 
had  been  done  was  illegal,  and  only  to  be  justified  from  ne- 
cessity, which  was  the  turn  of  the  whole  debate.  Lord 
Mansfield  trimmed  in  his  usual  manner,  and  avoided  declar- 
ing his  opinion,  though  he  argued  for  the  illegality,  'Lord 
Camden  attacked  him  very  close  ui^on  not  speaking  out  his 
opinion,  and  declared  strongly  for  the  legality.  Upon  the 
whole,  I  think  we  shall  have  very  little  to  do  in  Parliament, 
and  your  attendance  will  be  very  lilcle  wanted." 

This  was  Lord  Chatham's  first  appearance  in  the 

House  of  Lords.     In   letters    dated  the  same   month 

we  find  — 

"Monday,  19th  November,  1766. 
"  Mv  DEAR  George:  For  fear  that  I  should  not  have 
any  other  moment  to  write  you,  1  write  this  in  the  king's 
rooms.  I  was  obliged  to  dress  early  to  come  here,  it  being 
the  princess's  birthday.  I  dine  at  Lord  Hertford's,  which, 
with  the  ball  at  night,  will  take  up  the  whole  day;  you 
know  that  he  is  chamberlain.  The  Duke  of  Bedford  comes 
to-day,  and,  on  Wednesday,  I  suppose  they  will  kiss  hands; 
but  nothing  is  known.  Everybody  agrees  that  this  resig- 
nation bf  the  Cavendishes  is,  of  all  the  resignations,  the 
most  foolish;  aful  I  hear  thev  begin  already  to  repent  of  it. 
They  make  a  line  ojiporlunity  for  Chatham  to  strengthen 
hi.s  aitministration.  They  w:int  T.  Pelh;im  to  resign  ;  Ash- 
burnham  certiiiiily  will  now.  T//c  only  people  that  do 'veil 
are  those  that  never  resign  ;  which  Lord  Hertford  seems  to 
have  found  out  long  ago.  Saunders  and  Keppel  resign  to- 
morrow. " 

"  November,  1766. 
"My  dear  Gkorgk:  Jack  Shelly  has  kistcd  hands  for 
Lord  Edge<ombc'!»  place.  He  was  offered  to  be  of  the  bed- 
chamber, which  he  has  refused,  and  wants  t<>  have  the  posl- 
oflice,  which  they  won't  give  hitn.  I  find  it  is  imagined  that 
■we  '.hall  be  obliged  to  send  troops  into  North  Anierira  to  bring 
them  to  ,t  propi  r  ohrdirnrr.      It    is  whispercd  about  that  the 


424  THE    WIjHING-CAP  .PAPERS. 

Cavendishes  and  Rockingham's  friends  will  take  the  first 
opportunity  the}' can  to  he  hostile  to  government;  and  like- 
wise, that  Norton  and  Wedderburne  will  certainly  oppose  : 
if  these  things  are  so,  we  may  perhaps  have  some  more  con- 
vulsions in  the  state." 

Such  letters  are  excellent  correctives  of  history  ; 
hut  we  are  not  writing  history  just  now,  and  must 
turn  to  those  which  throw  lisrht  on  manners  :  — 

"  HiNciiiNBROOKE,  Thursda}'  (1770). 

"My  dear  George:  Our  party  at  Wakefield  went  off 
very  well.  We  had  hunting,  racing,  whist,  and  quinze. 
My  horse  won,  as  I  expected,  but  the  odds  were  upon  him, 
so  that  I  betted  very  little. 

"After  hunting  on  Monday  I  went  to  Ossory's,  where  I 
lay  in  my  way  here.  He  came  with  me,  and  went  back  yes- 
terday. I  imagine  he  would  have  liked  to  have  staid  if 
L.ady  Ossory  had  not  been  alone.  They  live  but  a  dull  life, 
and  there  must  be  a  great  deal  of  love  on  both  sides  not  to 
tire.  I  almost  promised  to  go  back  for  Bedford  races,  but 
believe  I  shall  not.  I  go  to  Newmarket  to-night.- and  to 
London  to-morrow.  Sandwich's  house  is  full  of  people,  and 
all  sorts  of  things  going  forward.  Miss  Ray  does  the  honors 
perfectly  well.  While  I  am  writing  they  are  all  upon  the 
grass  plot  at  a  foot-race." 

To  make  this  intelligible,  we  must  go  behind  the 
scenes.  Wakefield  Lodge  was  the  seat  of  the  minis- 
ter, Duke  of  Grafton.  Lady  Ossory  was  his  ci-de- 
vant duchess.  She  had  divorced  him  on  account  of 
his  intimacy  with  Nancy  Parsons,  described  by  Wal- 
pole  as  "  one  of  the  commonest  creatures  in  London  ; 
once  much  liked,  but  out  of  date.  He  is  certainly 
grown  immensely  attached  to  her;  so  much  so,  that 
it  has  put  an  end  to  all  his  decorum."  The  culpable 
excesses  into  which  the  duke  was  hurried  by  his  pas- 
sion are  stigmatized  by  Junius:  "It  is  not  the  jMi- 
vate  indulgence,  but  the  public  insult,  of  which  I 
complain.     The  name  of  Miss  Parsons  would  hardly 


ESSAYS    AND   SKETCHES.  425 

have  been  known,  if  the  first  lord  of  the  treasury  had 
not  led  her  in  triumph  through  the  opera-house,  even 
in  the  presence  of  the  queen."  Hinchinbrooke,  from 
which  the  letter  is  dated,  was  the  seat  of  Lord  Sand- 
wich, another  cabinet  minister.  Miss  Ray,  who  did 
the  honors  so  well,  was  his  mistress  —  shot  at  Covcnt 
Garden  in  1779.  The  story  is  told  by  Dr.  Warner  in 
a  paragraph  which  may  serve  as  a  pattern  of  goo« 
condensation :  — 

"The  history  of  Hackman,  Miss  Ray's  murderer,  is  this 
He  was  recruiting  at  Huntingdon;  appeared  at  the  ball; 
was  asked  by  Lord  Sandwich  to  Hinchinbrooke;  was  in- 
troduced to  Miss  Ray;  became  violently  enamoured  of  her; 
made  proposals,  and  was  sent  into  Ireland,  where  his  regi- 
ment was.  He  sold  out;  came  back  on  purpose  to  be  near 
the  object  of  his  affection  ;  took  orders,  but  could  not  bend 
the  inflexible  fair  in  a  black  coat  more  than  in  a  red.  He 
could  not  live  without  her.  He  meant  only  to  kill  himself, 
and  that  in  her  presence;  but  seeing  her  coquet  it  at  the 
play  with  a  young  Irish  Templar,  Macnamara,  he  determined 
suddenly  to  despatch  her  too.  He  is  to  be  tried  on  Friday, 
and  hanged  on  Monday." 

The  Morning  Post,  for  April  9,  1799,  has  this  an- 
nouncement: "When  the  news  of  the  above  mis- 
fortune was  carried  to  the  admiralty,  it  was  received 
by  her  noble  admirer  with  the  utmost  concern.  He 
wept  exceedingly,  and  lamented,  witli  every  other 
token  of  grief,  the  interruption  of  a  connection  which 
had  lasted  for  seventeen  ye;irs,  with  great  ;md  unin- 
terrupted felicity  on  l)oti)  sides." 

The  catching  character  of  notorious  insanity  lias 
often  been  remarked.  While  the  Hackman  all'air 
w.-is  the  popular  topic,  it  seems  that  no  woman,  young 
or  old,  ugly  or  pretty,  could  venture  forth  without 
alarm.     Lady  Ossory  writes, — 


426  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

"  This  Asiatic  weather  has  certainly  affected  our  cold  con- 
stitutions.    The  Duchess  of  B is  afraid  of  beinc:  shot 

wherever  she  goes.  A  man  has  followed  Miss  Clavering  oft 
foot  from  the  East  Indies;  is  quite  mad;  and  scenes  are 
daily  expected  even  in  the  drawing-room.  Another  man 
has  sworn  to  shoot  a  Miss  Sometliing,  n  importe,  if  she  did 
not  run  away  with  him  from  the  opera. 

"  Sir  Joshua  Rej'nolds  has  a  niece  who  is  troubled  with 
one  of  these  passionate  admirers,  to  whom  she  has  refused 
her  hand  and  her  door.  He  came,  a  few  days  since,  to  Sir 
Josluia's,  asked  if  she  was  at  home,  and  on  being  answered 
in  the  negative,  he  desired  the  footman  to  tell  her  to  take 
care,  for  he  was  determined  to  ravish  her  (pardon  the  word) 
whenever  he  met  her.  Keep  our  little  friend  (Mie  Mie)  at 
Paris  whilst  this  mania  lasts,  for  no  age  will  be  spared  to  be 
in  fashion,  and  I  am  sure  Mie  Mie  is  quite  as  much  in  dan- 
ger as  the  person  I  quoted  in  my  first  page." 

Before  quoting  those  letters  of  Lord  March  which 
refer  to  topics  of  a  strictly  personal  character,  we 
will  mention  the  few  autlientic  particulars  tliat  have 
been  recorded  of  him. 

He  was  born  in  1725,  succeeded  his  father  in  the 
earldom  of  March  in  173I1  his  mother  in  the  earldom 
of  Ruglen  in  1748,  and  his  cousin  in  the  dukedom  of 
Qiieensberry  in  177S,  being  then  in  his  fifty-third 
year.  Few  men  of  his  day  acquired  greater  noto- 
riety, or  were  more  an  object  of  inquiry  and  specu- 
lation ;  yet  he  took  little  part  in  political  events,  ex- 
cept so  far  as  his  own  interests  were  affected  by  them, 
and  it  would  have  been  better  for  his  reputation  had 
he  taken  none.  When  the  king's  malady  grew  se- 
rious, in  1788,  he  gave  in  his  allegiance  to  Fox,  and,  on 
the  recovery  of  his  royal  master,  was  unceremoniously 
dismissed  from  his  situation  of  lord  of  the  bedcham- 
ber, which  he  had  held  for  twenty-eight  years,  not- 
withstanding the  known  profligacy  of  his  life.  Wrax- 
all  says  he  took  a  journey  to  Windsor  to  learn  the 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  427 

exact  condition  of  the  king,  but  was  misled  by  Dr. 
Warren.  The  mistake  mattered  little.  His  business 
was  pleasure,  his  passions  were  women  and  the  turf; 
and  he  contrived  to  gratify  both,  without  impairing 
cither  his  fortune  or  his  constitution.  As  regards  the 
turf,  he  was  thoroughly  versed  in  all  its  mysteries, 
and  seldom  indulged  in  any  sort  of  gaming  uncon- 
nected with  it,  or  relating  to  matters  where  any 
undue  advantage  could  be  taken  of  him.  On  the 
contrary,  he  was  generally  on  the  lookout  for  oppor- 
tunities of  turning  his  own  shrewdness  and  coolness 
td  account.  A  curious  instance  is  related  in  Edge- 
worth's  memoirs. 

Lord  March  had  noticed  a  coachmakcr's  journey- 
man running  with  a  wheel,  and  on  minuting  him  by 
a  stop  watch,  found  that  he  actually  ran  a  consider- 
able distance  faster  with  it  than  most  men  could  run 
unencumbered.  A  waiter  in  Betty's  fruit  shop  was 
famous  for  speed.  Lord  March  adroitly  introduced 
the  topic,  and  maintaining  what  appeared  a  paVadox, 
easily  got  bets  to  a  large  amount,  that  the  waiter 
wouhl  run  faster  for  a  mile  than  any  one  could  run 
with  the  hind-wheel  of  his  lonlsiup's  carriage,  then 
standing  at  the  door.  But  he  committed  a  trifling  over- 
sight. The  wheel  was  lower  than  the  wheel  the  man 
was  used  to  run  with  ;  and  the  biter  would  have  been 
bit,  had  not  Sir  Francis  Dclaval  suggestrd  an  expe- 
dient. The  night  bifnri-  the  match,  planks  were  oli- 
taincil  from  the  Board  «>f  Works,  and  a  raiscil  groove, 
for  the  wlicel  to  run  in,  was  constructed  across  the 
course.  The  journeyman  won,  and  the  Jockey  Club 
decided  in  Luvd  March's  favor.     Another  of  his  bet* 


428  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

came  before  the  court  of  King's  Bench.  He  had  laid 
a  wager  of  five  hnndrcd  guineas  with  young  Mr. 
Pigot,  that  old  Mr.  Pigot  (the  father)  would  die  be- 
fore Sir  William  Codrington.  Old  Mr.  Pigot  died 
the  same  morning  before  the  making  of  the  wager, 
but  neither  of  the  parties  were  acquainted  with  the 
i'act.  The  court  held  that  the  dutiful  and  hopeful 
heir  must  pay.  A  startling  example  of  this  style  of 
bet  is  mentioned  by  Walpole.  "  I,  t'other  night  at 
White's,  found  a  very  remarkable   entry  in   our  very 

remarkable    wager-book.     Lord  bets    Sir  

twenty  guineas  that  Nash  outlives  Gibber.  How 
odd  that  these  two  old  creatures  should  live  to  see 
both  their  wager ers  put  ait  end  to  their  own  lives  I  " 
Lord  March's  rate  of  betting  was  never  very  high. 
The  largest  sum  he  appears  to  have  won  or  lost  at 
any  race  or  meeting,  during  the  period  over  which 
this  correspondence  extends,  was  four  thousand  one 
hundred  pounds,  and  this  is  mentioned  as  a  rare  oc- 
currence. 

He  also  managed  his  intercourse  with  the  fair  sex 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  prevent  them  from  interfering 
with  his  peace,  or  even  his  caprices  ;  and  few  things 
are  more  amusing  than  his  mode  of  keeping  his  oc- 
casional liaisons  from  clashing  with  his  permanent 
ones  —  for  we  are  obliged  to  speak  of  both  classes  in 
the  plural  number.  His  parting  with  one  of  his  fa- 
vorites is  peculiarly  touching  :  — 

"  I  am  just  prcpariRg  to  conduct  the  poor  little  Tondino  to 
Dover.  My  heart  is  so  full  that  I  can  neither  think,  speak, 
nor  write.  How  I  shall  be  able  to  part  with  her,  or  bear  to 
come  back  to  this  house,  I  do  not  know.  The  sound  of  her 
voice  fills  my  ejes  with  fresh   tears.     My  dear  George,  yai 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  429 

le  cceur  si  serrk  que  j'e  ne  suis  bon  a  present  qii'  a  fleurer. 
Take  all  the  care  you  can  of  her.  Je  la  recominende  h  vous. 
my  best  and  only  real  friend." 

In  return  for  the  care  Selwyn  was  to  take  of  the 
Tondino,  Lord  March,  it  seems,  was  to  keep  an  eye 
to  Raton. 

"  I  wrote  to  you  last  nij2fht,  but  I  quite  forgot  Raton.  I 
have  not  had  him  to  see  me  to-day.  havinij  been  the  whole 
morning  in  the  city  with  Lady  H.  ;  but  I  iiave  sent  to  your 
maid,  and  she  says  that  her  little  king  is  perfectly  well  and 
in  great  spirits." 

Besides  the  Tondino,  Selwyn  had  the  principal 
care  of  the  Rcna,  a  beautiful  Italian,  who  stood  in 
nearly  the  same  relation  to  Lord  March  as  Madame 
de  Pompadour  to  Louis  the  Fifteenth.  That  sagacious 
favorite,  it  will  be  remembered,  troubled  herself  very 
little  about  the  Pare  aux  Cerfs  so  long  as  she  re- 
tained the  cliief  place  in  his  Majesty's  confidence. 
Qiiecn  Caroline  is  said  to  have  preserved  her  in- 
fluence over  George  the  Second  by  the  same  policy. 
The  Rena's  prudence  was  put  to  a  severe  trial  by  the 
arrival  of  Signora  Zampcrini,  a  noted  dancer  and 
singer,  in  1766.  His  lordship  writes  to  .Selwyn  in 
Paris, — 

"  I  wish  I  had  fict  nut  immediately  after  Newmarket, 
which  I  believe  I  should  iiavc  done,  if  I  iiad  not  taken  a 
violent  fancy  for  one  of  the  ojicra  girls.  This  passion  is  a 
little  abated^  and  I  hope  it  will  be  cjiiile  so  before  you  and 
the  Rena  come  over,  else  I  fear  it  will  interrupt  our  society. 
But  whatever  is  the  case,  as  I  have  a  real  friendship  and  af- 
fection for  the  Rena,  I  shall  show  her  every  mark  of  rcgarii 
and  consideration,  and  be  vastly  happy  to  see  her.  I  con- 
sider her  as  a  frieiui,  and  certainly  as  oric  that  I  love  very 
much;  and  as  such,  I  hope  she  will  have  some  indulgence 
for  my  follies." 


430  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

A  few  days  afterwards,  — 

"  The  Rena  must  be  niad  if  she  takes  anything  of  this 
sort  in  a  serious  way.  If  she  does,  there  is  an  end  of  our 
society.  If  she  does  not,  we  shall  go  on  as  we  did.  I  am 
sure  I  have  all  the  regard  in  the  world  for  her,  for  I  love  her 
vastly,  and  I  shall  certainly  contrive  to  make  her  as  easy 
and  as  happy  as  I  can.  I  like  this  little  girl,  but  //ozu  long" 
tin's  liking  -vill  last  I  caniiot  tell ;  it  may  increase,  or  be 
quite  at  an  end,  before  you  arrive." 

His  lordship  had  not  attained  to  equal  proficiency 
with  Madame  de  Girardin's  hero  :  "  Albert  ne  vien- 
dra  pas  —  il  est  amoureux  pour  una  quinzaine,  il  me 
I'a  dit,  et  il  est  toujours  a,  la  minute  dans  ces  choses- 
la."  In  a  subsequent  letter  we  find  all  three  (the 
Tondino,  the  Rena,  and  the  Zamperini)  mixed  up 
together. 

"You  see  what  a  situation  I  am  in  with  my  little  Bttffa. 
She  is  the  prettiest  creature  that  ever  was  seen;  in  short,  I 
like  her  vastly,  and  she  likes  me,  because  I  give  her  money. 

"I  have  had  a  letter  from  the  Tondino  to-day.  She  tells 
me  that  she  never  passed  her  time  so  well  at  Paris  as  she 
does  now.  '  Monsieur  du  Barri  est  un  hotnme  cliarmantc,  et 
nous  donne  des  bals  avec  des  Princesses,'  Pray,  my  dear 
George,  find  out  something  that  will  be  agreeable  to  the 
little  Teresina.      Consult  the  Rena  about  it. 

"  I  shall  write  two  or  three  words  to  the  Rena  by  this  post. 
I  told  her,  in  my  last  letter,  that  I  was  supposed  to  be  very 
much  in  love  with  the  Zamperini,  which  certainly' would  not 
prevent  me  from  being  very  happy  to  see  her.  I  have  been 
too  long  accustomed  to  live  with  her  not  to  like  her,  or  to  be 
able  to  forget  her,  and  there  is  nothing  that  would  give  me 
more  pain  than  not  to  be  able  to  live  with  her  upon  a  foot- 
ing of  great  intimacy  and  friendship;  but  I  am  always 
afraid  of  every  event  ivJiere  luomen  are  concerned — t/iey 
are  all  so  exceedingly  tvrong-headed." 

It  might  be  deemed  useless,  if  not  impertinent,  to 
keep  on  repeating  that  obviously  wrong  things  are 
wrong ;  but  in  connection  with  the  next  extract,  the 


ESSAYS    AXD    SKETCHES.  43 1 

reader  should  bear  in  mind  that,  at  the  time  in  ques- 
tion, and  for  twelve  years  afterwards,  the  writer  was 
a  lord  of  the  bedchamber  in  the  decorous  court  of 
George  the  Third  and  Qiieen  Cliailotte. 

"  I  was  prevented  from  writing  to  vou  last  Friday,  bv  be- 
ing at  Newmarket  with  my  little  girl.  I  had  the  whole 
family  and  Cocchi.  Tiic  beauty  went  with  me  in  my  chaise, 
and  the  rest  in  the  old  landau." 

The  family  consisted  of  father,  mother,  and  sister. 
"As  March  finds  a  difficulty  (says  WilHams)  in  sep- 
arating her  from  that  rascally  garlic  tribe,  whose  very 
existence  depends  on  her  beauty,  I  do  not  think  he 
means  to  make  her  what  our  friend  the  countess  (the 
Rena)  was."  In  another  place  —  "March  goes  on 
but  heavily  with  his  poor  cliild  (she  was  only  fifteen). 
He  looks  miserable,  and  yet  he  takes  her  olT  in  her 
opera  dress  every  night  in  his  cliariot." 

Numerous  allusions,  in  these  volumes,  show  that 
Lord  March  was  not  devoid  of  taste  for  female  society 
of  a  better  order.  He  is  repeatedly  spoken  of  as  about 
to  marry  this  or  that  lady  of  quality  ;  and  Wraxall 
says  that  he  cherished  an  ardent  passion  for  Miss 
Pclham,  the  daugiitcr  of  the  minister,  who  persevered 
in  refusing  his  consent  to  tlicir  union,  on  account 
of  the  dissipated  liabits  of  tlic  peer.  He  dieil  un- 
married, and  continued  his  libertine  habits  till  death. 
During  tile  first  ten  years  of  the  present  century,  he 
migiit  constantly  he  seen  in  the  bow-window  of  his 
house  in  Piccadilly  (now  divided  into  two  houses 
occupied  by  Lord  Cadogan  and  Lord  Roseberry), 
examining  the  street  passengers  through  an  cye-glas.s 
witU  Ills  remaining  eye  (it  was  currently  stated  that 


432  THE   WISHING-CAP   PAPERS. 

the  other  was  of  glass),  and  when  a  female  pedestrian 
struck  his  Hincy,  an  emissary  was  instantly  despatched 
after  her.  That  no  time  might  be  lost,  a  pony  was 
always  kept  saddled  for  the  purpose.  "  It  is  a  fact," 
says  Wraxall,  "  that  he  performed  in  his  own  draw- 
ing-room the  scene  of  Paris  and  the  goddesses.  This 
classic  exhibition  took  place  in  his  house  opposite  the 
Green  Park."  We  do  not  believe  that  any  exhibition 
took  place  at  all  —  founding  our  scepticism  more  on 
the  folly  than  the  vice  ;  yet  it  is  melancholy  to  think  to 
what  human  nature  may  be  degraded  by  sensuality. 

A  striking  illustration  of  his  shrewdness  was  given 
by  Lord  Brougham,  in  his  evidence  before  the  Lords' 
Committee  on  Lord  Campbell's  libel  bill :  — 

"  The  late  Duke  of  Qiieensberrj  was  a  great  alarmist  in 
1792,  like  many  other  very  noble,  very  rich,  and  very  honor- 
able men.  He  thought  there  was  an  end  of  all  things,  and 
he  used  to  be  abusing  principally  the  seditious  writings  of 
the  day,  giving  them  and  their  authors  ill  names  in  great 
abundance  and  variety,  as  infamous,  detestable,  abominable 
—  when  one  day  some  toad-eater,  who  attended  his  person, 
added,  '  Ay.  indeed,  and  full  of  such  falsehoods.'  '  No,' 
.said  the  duke,  '  not  falsehoods  —  they  are  all  so  true;  that 
is  what  makes  them  so  abominable  and  so  dangerous.'  If 
his  grace  had  felt  all  that  was  said  on  the  corruptions  of 
Parliament  and  office  to  be  groundless,  he  would  have  let 
them  write  on  in  the  same  strain  to  the  end  of  time." 

A  characteristic  trait  has  been  preserved  by  Mr. 

Wilberforce  :  — 

"  I  alwaj's  observe  that  the  owners  of  your  grand  houses 
have  some  snug  corner  in  which  they  are  glad  to  shelter 
themselves  from  their  own  magnificence.*  I  remember 
dining,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  with  the  Duke  of  Queens- 

*  "  And  tlius  the  most  luxurious  court  in  Europe,  after  all  its  boasted  refine- 
ments, was  glad  to  return  at  last,  by  this  singular  contrivance  (the  table  volanU 
at  Choisy).  to  the  quiet  and  privacy  of  humble  life."  —  Rosters' s  Poent^l  Xffe. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  433 

berrj',  at  his  Richmond  villa.  The  party  was  very  small 
and  select  — Pitt,  Lord  and  Lady  Chatham,  the  Duchess  of 
Gordon,  and  George  Selwyn  (who  lived  for  society,  and 
continued  in  it  till  he  really  "looked  like  the  waxwork"  figure 
of  a  corpse)  were  amongs"t  the  guests.  We  dined  early, 
that  some  of  our  party  might  be  ready  to  attend  the  opera. 
The  dinner  was  sumptuous,  the  views  from  the  villa  quite 
enchanting,  and  the  Thames  in  all  its  glory;  but  the  duke 
looked  on  with  indifference.  '  What  is  there,'  he  said,  '  to 
make  so  much  of  in  the  Thames.'  I  am  quite  tired  of  it  — 
there  it  goes,  flow,  flow,  flow,  always  the  same.'" 

Tliis  is  precisely  what  we  sliould  have  expected 
from  the  duke ;  and  no  one  was  better  qualified  than 
Mr.  Wilberforce  to  explain  why  the  glorious  scene 
before  them  was  a  sealed  book  to  the  worn  volup- 
tuary—  why  his  spirit's  eye  was  blind  to  it  —  why 
every  simple,  innocent,  unforced  gratification  was 
denied  to  him  —  and  why  the  full  enjoyment  of  nat- 
ural beauty  and  sublimity  is  reserved  for  men  of  purer 
lives  and  hi;^her  minds  than  his. 

The  duke's  notions  of  comfort,  on  which  his  opin- 
ion was  worth  having,  were  expressed  in  a  letter  to 
Selwyn  :  "  I  wish  you  were  here  (the  place  is  not 
stated).  It  is  just  the  house  you  wouKl  wish  to  be  in. 
There  is  an  excellent  library,  a  good  parson^  the 
best  English  and  French  cookery  you  ever  tasted, 
strong  collec,  and  lialf-crown  whist." 

It  has  l)ccn  stated  that  lie  paid  his  piiysicians  on 
the  plan  adopted  by  tiie  Chinese  emperors  —  so  much 
per  week  for  keeping  him  alive.  If  so,  he  clieatcd 
them  ;  for  the  immediate  cause  of  his  death  was  im- 
prudence in  eating  fruit,  lie  died  in  iSio,  firm  and 
self-possessed.  His  dealh-bcd  was  literally  covered 
with  unopened  billets  (more  than  .seventy)  from  wo- 
men of  all  classes,  which  he  ordered  to  be  laid  on  the 
3S 


434  "T^^E   WISHING-CAP   PAPERS. 

counterpane  as  they  were  brought.  His  personal 
property  exceeded  a  million,  and  his  will,  with  its 
twenty-five  codicils,  was  a  curious  document.  He 
left  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds  and  three 
houses  to  Mie  Mie,  and  made  her  husband  (the  late 
Marquis  of  Hertfoi'd,  a  congenial  spirit)  his  residuary 
legatee. 

Selwyn's  most  immediate  friends  and  frequent  cor- 
respondents, after  the  duke,  were  George  James  (alias 
Gilly)  Williams  and  Lord  Carlisle. 

Of  Williams  little  is  known.  He  was  the  son  of 
Peeie  Williams,  the  compiler  of  three  volumes  of 
chancery  cases,  highly  esteemed  by  equity  lawyers. 
He  was  connected  by  marriage  with  Lord  North, 
and  in  i774  was  appointed  receiver-general  of  ex- 
cise. Selwyn,  Edgecumbe,  Walpole,  and  Williams, 
used  to  meet  at  stated  periods  at  Strawberry  Hill, 
and  form  what  Walpole  called  his  out-of-town  party. 
Gilly's  letters  convey  a  highly  favoi"able  impression 
of  his  social  pleasantry  ;  and  it  seems  that  he  soon 
acquired  some  reputation  as  a  wit.  "  I  have  desired 
Lord  R.  Bertie,"  he  writes  in  1751,  "  to  propose  me  at 
White's.  Don't  let  any  member  shake  his  head  at 
me  for  a  wit ;  for,  God  knows,  he  may  as  well  reject 
me  for  being  a  giant." 

Frederick,  fifth  earl  of  Carlisle,  was  a  remarkable 
man  in  many  ways.  He  filled  some  important  public 
situations  with  credit ;  and  on  his  being  appointed 
lord-lieutenant  of  Ireland,  his  intimate  friend,  Storer, 
writes,  "  I  wish  he  was  secretary  of  state.  It  is  a 
joke  to  think  it  too  high  a  step.  I  am  of  the  old 
king's  opinion,  that  a  man  in  this  coutitry  is  Jit  J^or 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  435 

any  f  lace  he  can  get,  and  I  am  sure  Carlisle  will  be 
fit  for  any  place  lie  will  take." 

In  literature  he  distinguished  himself  as  a  poet ; 
but,  unluckily,  he  is  principally  known  in  that  capacity 
through  Lord  Byron,  who,  in  his  English  Bards 
and  Scoth  Reviewers,  levels  twelve  unjust  and  acri- 
monious lines  at  him.  In  the  first  sketch  of  the 
poem  these  twelve  lines  were  wanting,  and  their 
place  was  occupied  by  two  — 

"  On  one  alone  Apollo  deigns  to  smile, 
And  crowns  a  new  Roscommon  in  Carlisle." 

Lord  Carlisle  had  oflcnded  his  young  relation,  be- 
tween the  writing  and  tiic  printing  of  the  poem,  by 
refusing  to  introduce  him  on  his  taking  his  seat  in  the 
House  of  Lords.  Lord  Byron  afterwards  deeply  re- 
gretted the  injury.  There  is  a  beautiful  atonement  in 
the  third  canto  of  Childe  Harold;  and  in  writing,  in 
1814,  to  Mr.  Rogers,  he  thus  expresses  himself: 
"  Is  there  any  ciiancc  or  possibility  of  making  it  up 
with  Lord  Carlisle,  as  I  feci  disposed  to  do  anything, 
reasonable  or  umcasonable,  to  ell'cct  it?" 

In  private  life  and  early  youth.  Lord  Carlisle,  en- 
dowed with  warm  feelings,  a  lively  fancy,  and  an 
excitable  disposition,  was  peculiarly  liable  to  be  led 
astray  by  the  temptations  which  assail  young  men  of 
rank.  In  1769,  being  llien  in  his  twenly-tirst  year,  he 
went  abroad,  desperately  in  love  with  some  wedtlcd 
fair  one.  She  forms  the  burden  of  many  a  paragraph 
in  his  letters  to  Selwyn,  who,  though  nearly  thirty 
years  older,  entered  warmly  into  all  his  feelings. 

"  I  Hu)U[jht  I  linii  ^'ot  the  belter  of  that  cxtravai^:»nt  pas- 
sion, but  I  find  I  am  relapsed  again.     I  tremble  at  the  cuii- 


43^  THE    WISIIING-CAP  PAPERS. 

sequences  of  the  meeting,  and  yet  I  have  not  the  courage, 
even  in  thought,  to  oppose  its  temptations.  I  shall  exert  all 
the  firmness  I  am  capable  of,  which,  God  knows,  is  very  lit- 
tle, upon  that  occasion.  If  I  am  received  with  coolness,  I 
shall  feel  it  severely-  I  shall  be  miserable  if  I  am  made  too 
welcome.  Good  God,  what  happiness  would  I  not  exchange, 
to  be  able  to  live  with  her  without  loving  her  more  than 
friendship  will  allow!  Is  my  picture  hung  up,  or  is  it  in  the 
passage  with  its  face  turned  to  the  walls.-"' 

From  the  allusion  to  the  picture,  and  other  indi- 
cations, it  is  clear  that  the  mysterious  lady  (who  has 
given  rise  to  much  surmise)  was  the  beautifnl  Lady 
Sarah  Bunbury  {nee  Lennox),  whom  it  is  said  his  Ma- 
jesty George  the  Third  would  have  married,  had  he 
been  allowed.  His  Majesty  gave  up  his  own  wishes 
for  the  good  of  the  country,  but  the  impression  re- 
mained. Mrs.  Pope,  the  actress,  was  very  like  Lady 
Sarah.  On  one  occasion,  at  the  theatre,  many  years 
after  his  marriage,  the  king  turned  round  to  the  queen 
in  a  fit  of  melancholy  abstraction,  and  said,  pointing 
to  Mrs.  Pope,  "  She  is  like  Lady  Sarah  still." 

Lord  Carlisle  got  the  better  of  this  passion,  and 
married  at  twenty-two.  It  would  have  been  well  for 
his  peace  of  mind  had  he  been  equally  successful  in 
getting  the  better  of  a  still  more  fatal  one  for  play. 
Letter  after  letter  is  filled  with  good  resolutions,  but 
the  fascination  w^as  too  strong.    The  blow  came  at  last. 

"July,  1776.  . 
"My  dear  George:  I  have  undone  myself,  and  it  is  to 
no  purpose  to  conceal  frotn  you  my  abominable  madness  and 
folly,  though  perhaps  the  particulars  may  not  be  known  to 
the  rest  of  the  world.  I  never  lost  so  much  in  five  times  as 
I  have  done  to-night,  and  am  in  debt  to  the  house  for  the 
whole.  You  may  be  sure  I  do  not  tell  you  this  with  an  idea 
that  you  can  be  of  the  least  assistance  to  me;  it  is  a  great 
deal  more  than  your  abilities  are  equal  to.  Let  me  see  you, 
though  I  shall  be  ashamed  to  look  at  you  after  your  good- 
ness to  me." 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  437 

This  letter  is  indorsed  by  Selwyn,  "  After  the  loss 
of  the  ten  thousand  pounds;"  which,  following  on 
other  losses,  appears  to  have  sunk  the  earl  to  the  low- 
est depths  of  despondency. 

'■'■  I  do  protest  to  yott.  that  I  am  so  tired  of  my  present  man- 
ner of  passing  my  time,  —  fiori'ct'cr  I  may  be  kept  in  coun- 
tenance by  the  number  of  those  in  my  ov:n  rank  and  superior 
fortune^ —  that  I  never  reflect  on  it  zvithout  shame.  If  they 
will  employ  ine  in  any  part  of  tlie  world,  1  will  accept  the 
employment;  let  it  tear  me,  as  it  will,  from  everything  dear 
to  me  in  this  country 

*'  If  any  of  our  expectations  should  be  gratified  in  the 
winter,  I  cannot  expect  anything  suflicient  to  balance  tiie 
expenses  of  living  in  London.  If  I  accept  anything.  I  must 
attend  Parliament  —  I  mu-^t  live  in  London.  If  I  am  not 
treated  with  consideration.  I  can  live  here,  if  that  can  be 
called  living  which  is  wasting  the  best  years  of  my  life  in 
obscurity;  without  society  to  dispel  the  gloom  of  a  northern 
climate;  left  to  myself  to  brood  over  my  follies  and  indis- 
cretions; to  see  my  children  deprived  of  education  by  those 
follies  and  indiscretions;  to  be  forgotten;  to  lose  my  tem- 
per; to  be  neglected;  to  become  cross  and  morose  to  those 
whom  I  have  most  reason  to  love!  Except  that  the  welfare 
and  interest  of  others  depend  upon  my  existence,  I  should  not 
wish  that  existence  to  be  of  long  duration." 

So  thougiit  and  felt  a  man  apparently  possessed  of 
every  blessing  —  youth,  health,  talent,  birth,  fortune, 
connection,  consideration,  and  domestic  ties  of  the 
most  endearing  kind  — ■ 

"  Medio  (Ic  fontc  Icporum 
Surgil  amari  aliquid  quod  in  ipsi*  lluribus  angat." 

The  very  accident  (mi.scalled  advantage)  of  his 
position  commends  the  poisoned  chalice  to  his  lips, 
and  the  Lord  of  Castle  Howard  longs  for  death  at 
twenty-seven  !  Hut  a  truce  to  rellection  till  we  have 
introduced  another,  and  a  more  memorable  subject  for 
it.  Lord  Carlisle's  embarrassments  were  inextricably 
mixed  up  with  those  of  Ciiarles  James  Fox  ;  and  it 


438  1'HE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

can  therefore  hardly  be  deemed  a  digression  to  turn 
at  once  to  the  passages  in  these  volumes  which  relate 
to  him.  The  few  letters  of  his  own  that  occur  in 
them  are  principally  remarkable  for  ease  and  sim- 
plicity.    For  example, — 

"Paris,  November,  1770. 
"  Quantities  of  cousins  visit  us  ;  amongst  the  rest  the  Duke 
of  Berwick.  What  an  animal  it  is !  I  supped  last  night 
with  Lauzun,  Fitz-James,  and  some  others,  at  what  they  call 
a  Clob  a  VAnglaise.  It  was  in  a  petite  maison  of  Lauzun's. 
There  was  Madame  Briseau,  and  two  other  women.  The 
supper  was  execrably  bad.  However,  the  champagne  and 
tokay  were  excellent;  notwithstanding  which  the  fools  made 
tin  pouche  with  bad  rum.  This  club  is  to  meet  every  Satur- 
day, either  here  or  at  Versailles:  I  am  glad  to  see  that  we' 
cannot  be  foolisher  in  point  of  imitation  than  they  are." 

Principally,  through    Selwyn's    introduction,    Fox 

was  on  a  familiar  footing  with  Madame  du  Detfaad 

and  her  set. 

"  Madame  Geoffrin  ma  chante  la palinodie.  I  dine  there 
to-day;  she  inquires  after  you  very  much.  I  have  supped 
at  Madame  du  Deffand's,  who  asked  me  if  I  was  di-ja  sous  la 
tutele  de  M.  Sclvin  ?     I  boasted  that  I  was." 

In  August  23,  1 771,  he  writes  what  is  most  worthy 

of  notice,  as  follows  :  — 

*'  I  am  reading  Clarendon,  but  scarcely  get  on  faster  than 
you  did  with  3'our  Charles  the  Fifth.  I  think  the  style  bad, 
and  that  he  has  a  good  deal  of  the  old  woman  in  his  way 
of  thinking,  but  hates  the  opposite  party  so  much  that  it  gives 
one  a  kind  of  partiality  for  him." 

His  marvellous  powers  as  a  debater  were  remarked 

very  soon  after  his  first  entrance  into  Parliament.     In 

March,  1770,  his  delighted  father  writes  to  Selwyn, — 

"You  know  by  this  time  that  your  panegyric  upon 
Charles  came  about  an  hour  after  I  had  wrote  mine  to  you 
of  the  9th.  He  writes  word  that  upon  February  the  12th  he 
spoke  very  ill.  I  do  not  mind  that,  and  when  he  speaks  so 
well,  as  to  be,  as  Lady  Mary  says,  the  wonder  of  the  age,  it 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  439 

does  not  give  me  so  much  pleasure  as  what  you  very  justly, 
I  think,  tell  me  de  son  cocnr.  And  vet  that  Jiiay  not  signify. 
1  have  been  honest  and  good-natured,  nor  can  I  repent  of 
it:  though  convinced  now  that  honesty  is  not  the  best 
policy,  and  that  good-nature  does  not  meet  with  the  return 
it  ought  to  do." 

It  appears  from  a  letter  addressed  by  Lord  Carlisle 

to    Lady   Holland  (Fox's    mother),  in   1773,  that    he 

had  become  security  lor  Fox  to  the  amount  of  fifteen 

or  sixteen  thousand  pounds;  and  a  letter  to  Selwyn, 

in  1777,  puts  the  ruinous  character  of  their  gambling 

transactions   in   the   stronsfest   light.      Lord   Ilchester 

(Fox's  cousin)  had  lost  thirteen  thousand    pounds  at 

one  sitting  to  Lord  Carlisle,  who  ollered  to  take  three 

thousand  pounds  down.     Nothing  was  paid  ;    but  ten 

years  afterwards,  when  Lord  Carlisle  pressed  for  his 

money,  he  complains  that  an  attempt  was    made  to 

construe   the  oiler  into  a  remission  of  ten  thousand 

pounds : — 

"The  only  way,  in  honor,  that  Lord  I.  could  have  ac- 
cepted my  olfcr,  would  have  been  by  taking  some  steps  to 
pay  the  three  thousand  pounds.  I  remained  in  a  state  of 
uncertainty,  I  think,  for  nearly  tiirec  years;  but  his  taking 
no  notice  of  it  during  that  lime  convinced  me  that  lie  had 
no  intention  of  availing  himself  of  it.  Charles  Fox  was 
also  at  a  much  earlier  period  dear  that  he  never  meant  to 
accept  it.  There  is  also  great  justice  in  the  l)eha\  ior  of  the 
family  in  passing  by  the  instantaneous  payment  of,  I  be- 
lieve, five  thousand  pounds  to  Charles,  won  at  the  same 
sitting,  witlif)ut  any  observations.  At  one  feriod  of  the 
play,  I  remember,  there  was  a  balance  in  favor  of  one  of 
tho^e  fTintlrmi  n.  but  of  which  I  protest  I  do  not  remember, 
of  about  jijty  thousand." 

At  the  time  in  cjuestion,  Fox  was  hardly  eighteen. 
The  following  letter  from  Lord  Carlisle,  written  in 
1 77 1,  contains  some  highly  interesting  information 
rt-spcctiiig  the  youthful  habits,  and  already  vast  intel- 
lectual prc-cn)incnce  of  this  memorable  statesman  :  — 


440  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

"  It  gi\es  me  great  pain  to  hear  that  Charles  begins  to  be 
unreasonably  impatient  at  losing.  I  fear  it  is  the  jirologue 
to  much  IVetfulness  of  temper;  for  disappointment  in  rais- 
ing inonev,  and  any  serious  reflections  upon  his  situation, 
will  (in  spite  of  his  affected  spirits  and  dissipation,  which 
sit  ver^'  well  upon  Richard)  occasion  him  many  disagreeable 
moments.  They  will  be  the  more  painful  when  he  reflects 
that  he  is  not  following  the  natural  bent  of  his  genius;  for 
that  would  lead  him  to  all  serious  inquiry  and  laudable  pur- 
suits, which  he  has  in  some  measure  neglected,  to  hear  Lord 
Bolingbroke's  applause,  and  now  is  obliged  to  have  recourse 
to  it  and  play,  to  hinder  him  from  thinking  how  he  has 
perverted  the  ends  for  which  he  was  born.  /  believe  there 
7iever  zvas  a  fersoii  yet  created  tuho  had  the  faculty  of  reason- 
ing' like  him.  IJis  judgments  are  tiever  -wrong;  his  decision 
is  formed  quicker  than  anv  tnan's  I  ever  conversed  luith  ;  and 
Ac  ?iever seems  to  mistake  but  in  his  ozvn  affairs." 

Lord  Carlisle's  fears  proved  groundless  in  one  re- 
spect. Fox's  sweetness  of  temper  remained  with  him 
to  the  last ;  but  it  is  most  painful  to  think  how  much 
mankind  has  lost  through  his  recklessness.  There  is  no 
saying  what  might  not  have  been  eftected  by  such  a 
man,  had  he  simply  followed  the  example  of  his  great 
rival  in  one  respect.  "  We  played  a  good  deal  at 
Goosetree's,"  says  VVilberforce,  "  and  I  well  remem- 
ber the  intense  earnestness  which  Pitt  displayed  when 
joining  in  these  games  of  chance.  He  perceived 
their  increasing  fascination,  and  .soon  after  abandoned 
it  forever."  Wilberforce's  own  cure  is  thus  recorded 
by  his  biographers,  on  the  authority  of  his  private 
journal  :  "■ '  We  can  have  no  play  to-night,'  com- 
plained some  of  the  party  at  the  club,  '  for  St.  An- 
drew is  not  here  to  keep  bank.'  '  Wilberforce,'  said 
Mr.  Bankes,  who  never  joined  himself,  '  if  you  will 
keep  it  I  will  give  you  a  guinea.'  The  playful  chal- 
lenge was  accepted,  but  as  the  game  grew  deep,  he 
rose  the  winner  of  six  hundred  pounds.    Much  of  this 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  44 1 

was  lost  by  those  who  were  only  heirs  to  future 
fortunes,  and  could  not  therefore  meet  such  a  call 
without  inconvenience.  The  pain  he  felt  at  their 
annoyance  cured  him  of  a  taste  which  seemed  but  too 
likely  to  become  predominant." 

Goosetree's  being  then  almost  exclusively  com- 
posed of  incipient  orators  and  embryo  statesmen,  the 
call  for  a  gaming-table  there  may  be  regarded  as  a 
decisive  proof  of  the  universal  prevalence  of  the  vice. 
But  most  of  these  were  the  friends  and  followers  of 
Pitt;  and  when  his  star  gained  the  ascendant,  idle- 
ness was  no  longer  the  order  of  the  day  among  poli- 
ticians, and  rising  young  men  gave  up  faro  and  haz- 
ard for  Blackstone  and  Adam  Smith.  We  know  of 
no  candidate  for  high  office,  entering  public  life  after 
17S4,  who  did  not  allbct  prudence  and  propriety  ;  and 
probably  we  sliall  never  again  sec  a  parliamentary 
leader  aspire,  like  Bolingbroke, 

'•  To  shine  a  TuUy  and  a  Wilmot  too." 

Gaming,  however,  continued  a  blot  on  our  manners 
and  morals  for  many  years  afterwards;  and  it  may 
not  be  uninstructivc  to  trace  its  progress  ami  drcline. 
During  the  whole  of  the  last  century,  gaming  of  some 
sort  was  an  ordinary  amusement  for  both  sexes  in  tiie 
best  society.*  Till  near  the  commencement  of  the 
present,  the  favorite  game  was  faro  ;  and  as  it  was  a 
decided  advantage  to  hold  the  bank,  masters  and  mis- 

•  In  General  BurRoync'n  pl.iv  of  The  McircM,  Mr».  IILindinh  exclaim^ 
"  Time  llirown  away  in  the  country  I  a»  if  w<>ni';n  of  fathion  left  London  to  turn 
freckled  »hcphcrdc»»c».  No,  no  ;  card*,  card*  and  batkK.immon,  arc  the  de- 
lights of  rural  life  :  and,  (lightly  a*  you  may  think  of  my  ikill,  at  the  year's  end 
I  am  no  incon'ii<lcr.ilpl(!  '.harcr  in  the  piiimoncy  of  niy  soticly." 


442  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

tresses  of  noble  houses,  less  scrupulous  than  Wilber- 
force,  frequently  volunteered  to  fleece  and  amuse  their 
company.  But  scandal  having  made  busy  vvitli  the 
names  of  some  of  them,  it  became  usual  to  hire  a 
professed  gamester  at  five  or  ten  guineas  a  night  to 
set  up  a  table  for  the  evening,  as  we  should  hire  La- 
blache  for  a  concert,  or  Weippart  for  a  ball.  Faro 
gradually  dropped  out  of  fashion ;  macao  took  its 
place ;  hazard  v\'as  never  wanting,  and  whist  began 
to  be  played  for  stakes  which  would  have  satisfied 
Fox  himself,  who,  though  it  was  calculated  that  he 
might  have  netted  four  or  five  thousand  a  year  by 
games  of  skill,  complained  that  they  afforded  no  ex- 
citement. 

Watier's  club,  in  Piccadilly,  was  the  resort  of  the 
macao  playei's.  It  was  kept  by  an  old  inaitre  d" hotel 
of  George  the  Fourth,  a  character  in  his  way,  who 
took  a  just  pride  in  the  cookery  and  wines  of  liis  es- 
tablishment. All  the  brilliant  stars  of  fashion  (and 
fashion  was  power  then)  frequented  it,  with  Brum- 
mell  for  their  sun.  "  Poor  Brummell  dead,  in  misery 
and  idiocy,  at  Caen !  and  I  i-emember  him  in  all  his 
glory,  cutting  his  jokes  after  the  opera  at  White's,  in 
a  black  velvet  great-coat,  and  a  cocked  hat  on  his 
well-powdered  head."  *  Nearly  the  same  turn  of  re- 
flection is  suggested  as  we  run  over  the  names  of  his 
associates.  Almost  all  of  them  were  ruined  ;  three 
out  of  four  irretrievably.  Indeed,  it  was  the  forced 
expatriation  of  its  supporters  that  caused  the  club  to 
be  broken  up.     During  the  same  period  (from  1810 

*  Private  MS. 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES,  443 

to  1815  or  thereabouts)  there  was  a  great  deal  of  high 
play  at  White's  and  Brookes',  particularly  whist.  At 
Brookes'  figured  some  remarkable  characters  —  as 
Tippoo  Smith,  by  common  consent  the  best  whist- 
player  of  his  day  ;  and  an  old  gentleman  nicknamed 
Neptune,  from  his  having  once  flung  liimself  into  the 
sea  in  a  fit  of  despair  at  being,  as  he  thought,  mined. 
He  was  fished  out  in  time,  found  he  was  not  ruined, 
and  played  on  during  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

The  most  distinguished  player  at  White's  was  the 
nobleman  who  was  presented  at  the  salon  in  Paris 
as  Le  Wellington  des  youcurs;  and  he  richly  mer- 
ited the  name,  if  skill,  temper,  and  the  most  daring 
courage,  are  titles  to  it.  The  greatest  genius,  how- 
ever, is  not  infallible.  He  once  lost  three  thousand 
four  hundred  pounds  at  whist  by  not  remembering 
that  the  seven  of  hearts  was  in.  He  plaved  at  haz- 
ard for  the  highest  stakes  tiiat  any  one  could  be  got  to 
play  with  him,  and  at  one  time  was  supposed  to  have 
won  nearly  a  hundred  thf)usand  pounds;  but  it  all 
went,  along  with  a  great  deal  more,  at  Crockford's. 

There  was  also  a  great  deal  of  play  at  Graham's, 
the  Union,  the  Cocoa-Tree,  and  otiier  clubs  of  the 
second  order  in  point  of  fashion.  Here  large  sums 
were  hazarded  with  ecpial  rashness,  and  remarkable 
characters  started  up.  Among  the  m(^st  conspicuous 
was  the  late  Colonel  Aubrey,  who  literally  passed  his 
life  at  play.  He  did  notiiiiig  else,  morning,  noon, 
and  night;  and  it  was  computed  that  he  liad  paid 
more  than  sixty  thousand  poimds  for  card-money. 
He  was  a  very  fine  player  at  all  games,  and  a  shrewd, 
clever  man.     He  had  liccii  twice  to    India,  and  made 


^y\/\  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

two  fortunes.  It  was  said  that  he  lost  the  first  on  his 
way  home,  transferred  himself  from  one  ship  to 
another  without  landing,  went  back,  and  made  the 
second.  His  life  was  a  continual  alternation  between 
poverty  and  wealth  ;  and  he  used  to  say,  the  greatest 
pleasure  in  life  is  winning  at  cards  —  the  next  great- 
est, losing. 

For  several  years  deep  play  went  on  at  all  these 
clubs,  —  fluctuatingboth  as  to  locality  and  amount, — 
till  by  degrees  it  began  to  flag.  It  had  got  to  a  low 
ebb  when  Mr.  Crockford  came  to  London,  and  laid 
the  foundation  of  the  most  colossal  fortune  that  was 
ever  made  by  play.  He  began  by  taking  Watier's  old 
club-house,  in  partnership  with  a  man  named  Taylor. 
They  set  up  a  hazard-bank,  and  won  a  great  deal  of 
money,  but  quarrelled,  and  separated  at  the  end  of 
the  first  year.  Taylor  continued  where  he  was,  had  a 
bad  year,  and  broke.  Crockford  removed  to  St. 
James'  Street,  had  a  good  year,  and  instantly  set  about 
building  the  magnificent  club-house  which  bears  his 
name.  It  rose  like  a  creation  of  Aladdin's  lamp  ;  and 
the  genii  themselves  could  hardly  have  surpassed  the 
beauty  of  the  internal  decorations,  or  furnished  a  more 
accomplished  inaitre  d'hote!  than  Ude.  To  make 
the  company  as  select  as  possible,  the  establishment 
was  regularly  organized  as  a  club,  and  the  election  of 
members  vested  in  a  committee.  "  Crockford's  "  be- 
came the  rage,  and  the  votaries  of  fashion,  whether 
they  liked  play  or  not,  hastened  to  enroll  themselves. 
The  Duke  of  Wellington  was  an  original  member, 
though  (unlike  Bluchcr,  who  repeatedly  lost  every- 
thing he  had  at  play)  the  great  captain  was  never 


ESSAYS   AND    SKETCHES.  445 

known  to  play  deep  at  any  game  but  war  or  politics. 
Card-tables  were  regularly  placed,  and  whist  was 
played  occasionally  ;  but  the  aim,  end,  and  final  cause 
of  the  whole  was  the  hazard-bank,  at  which  the  pro- 
prietor took  his  niglitly  stand,  prepared  for  all  comers. 
There  was  a  recognized  limit,  at  which  (after  losing 
a  certain  sum)  he  miglit  declare  the  bank  broke  for 
the  night ;  but  he  knew  his  business  too  well  to  stop. 
The  speculation,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  add,  was 
eminently  successful.  During  several  years,  every- 
thing that  anybody  had  to  lose  and  cared  to  risk,  was 
swallowed  up.  Le  Wellington  dcs  Joueurs  lost  twen- 
ty-three thoirsand  pounds  at  a  sitting,  beginning  at 
twelve  at  night,  and  ending  at  seven  the  following  even- 
ing. He  and  three  otiier  noblemen  could  not  have  lost 
less,  sooner  or  later,  than  a  hundred  thousand  pounds 
apiece.  Others  lost  in  proportion  (or  out  of  propor- 
tion) to  tiicir  means;  but  we  leave  it  to  less  occupied 
moralists  and  better  calculators  to  say  how  many  ruined 
families  went  to  inakc  Mr.  Crockford  a  ?ni/liofinalre 
—  ior  a.  millionnaire  he  was  and  is,  in  the  English 
sense  of  the  term,  after  making  the  largest  possible 
allowance  f(jr  bad  debts.  A  vast  sum,  perhaps  half  a 
million,  is  due  to  him  ;  but  as  he  won  all  his  debtors 
were  al)le  to  raise,  and  easy  credit  was  the  most  fatal 
of  his  lures,*  we  cannot  make  up  our  minds  to  con- 

•  Brookes  wa»  equally  accommodatinj;  ;  — 

"From  libcrAl  Mrookca,  wl.o»c  ipccuUtivc  ikill 
Is  hanty  credit  and  a  diMant  bill ; 
Who,  nursed  in  <:lul>«,  diiMlains  a  vulgar  trade, 
£xidtt  to  trust  and  blu-^hcn  to  be  |i.iid." 

\nr*f\  From  the  Hon.  CharUi  Jamtt  Fox,  /tartridgfihoolin^,  to  tht  Hon. 
John  Townihtnd,  iruising  ;  by  Tickeil,  whom  Mi  J'  s»c  praiics  (or  his  ^otm  of 
"  Anticipation." 


446  THE   WISHING-CAP   PAPERS. 

dole  with  him  on  that  amount,  frightful  though  it  be. 
He  retired,  three  or  four  years  ago,  much  as  an  Indian 
chief  retires  from  a  hunting-country  when  there  is  not 
game  enough  left  for  his  tribe ;  and  the  club  is  said 
to  be  now  tottering  to  its  fall. 

Some  good  was  certainly  produced  by  it.  In  the 
first  place,  private  gambling  (between  gentleman  and 
gentleman)  with  its  degrading  incidents,  illustrated  by 
the  foregoing  letters,  is  at  an  end.  In  the  second 
place,  this  veiy  circumstance  brings  the  worst  part  of 
the  practice  within  the  reach  of  the  law.  Public 
gambling,  which  only  exists  by  and  through  what  are 
popularly  termed  "  hells,"  may  be  easily  suppressed. 
There  are  at  present  more  than  twenty  of  these  estab- 
lishments in  Pall  Mall,  Piccadilly,  and  St.  James', 
called  into  existence  by  Mr.  Crockford's  success. 
Why  does  not  the  police  interfere.'*  If  the  police 
cannot,  why  does  not  the  legislature?  Not  an  hour 
should  be  lost  in  putting  down  this  monstrous  evil. 
We  claim  to  be  superior  in  morals  and  public  order 
to  the  French  ;  yet  all  the  public  gaming-tables  of 
Paris  were  suppressed  four  or  five  years  ago,  and 
(what  is  more)  suppressed  without  difficulty,  the  mo- 
ment the  police  set  to  work  in  good  earnest.* 

Space  permitting,  we  should  be  glad  to  make  a  few 
extracts  from  the  numei'ous  letters,  in  this  collection, 
of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Warner,  who  has  described  many  ob- 
jects of  interest,  and  hit  olV  some  curious  traits  of 
character,  in   a  gay,  vivacious  style,  which  would  be 


*  Since  this  was  written,  a  few  of  the  most  notorious  London  establishments 
have  been  suppressed. 


ESSAYS   AND    SKETCHES.  447 

much  more  pleasinghad  there  been  less  effort  to  make 
it  so.  He  ajDparently  took  for  his  model  the  well- 
known  letter  of  Madame  de  Sevigne,  announcing  the 
marriage  of  "  la  grande  Mademoiselle,"  in  which  the 
main  object  seems  to  be  to  keep  beating  about  the 
bush  as  long  as  possible.  But  the  reverend  doctor  is 
inexcusably  coarse  and  loose,  and  has  often  tempted 
us  to  exclaim,  like  Dr.  Johnson  when  some  clergy- 
men were  endeavoring  to  show  off  in  his  company 
by  assuming  the  lax  jollity  of  men  of  the  world, 
"  This  merriment  of  parsons  is  mighty  oflensivc." 
Independently  of  the  indecorous  tone,  tlicre  are  sev- 
eral expressions  and  allusions  in  Dr.  Warner's  letters, 
and  two  or  three  in  Gilly  Williams's  and  Lord  Car- 
lisle's, which  ollend,  not  merely  against  good  taste, 
but  common  decency  ;  and  Mr.  Jesse  has  exposed 
himself  to  mucii  censure  by  printing  them. 

We  are  also  obliged  to  omit  many  passages  from 
the  letters  of  Lord  Holland,  Miss  Townshend,  Mr. 
Storer,  the  Dowager  Lady  Carlisle,  and  Lady  Sarah 
Bunbury,  which  wc  had  marked  for  insertion  ;  as 
well  as  an  entire  letter  of  Horace  Walpole's  (vol.  i., 
p.  4),  which  maintains  his  superiority  as  a  writer  of 
epistolary  compositions. 

In  conclusion,  wc  are  happy  to  say  that  the  com- 
parison, suggested  by  these  volumes,  between  the 
manners  and  morals  of  the  last  century  and  our  own, 
is  higiily  satisfactory.  Intellectual  tastes  have  nearly 
superseded  the  necessity,  f(/rmerly  felt  by  the  unoc- 
cupied classes,  of  resorting  to  coarse  indulgences  or 
strong  excitements;  and  respect  for  public  opinion 
induces  those  among  them  who  continue  unreclaimed, 


448  THE   WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

to  conceal  their  transgressions  from  the  world.  It  is 
also  worthy  of  note,  that  the  few  persons  of  noble 
birth  or  high  connection  who  have  recently  attracted 
attention  by  their  laxity,  are  professed  votaries  of 
(what  they  call)  pleasme,  and  are  no  longer  en- 
couraged by  the  example,  or  elevated  by  the  com- 
panionship, of  men  distinguished  in  tlie  senate,  the 
cabinet,  or  the  court.  No  prime  minister  escorts  a 
woman  of  the  town  through  the  crush-room  of  the 
opera;  no  first  lord  of  the  admiralty  permits  his 
mistress  to  do  the  honors  of  his  house,  or  weeps 
over  her  in  the  columns  of  the  Morning  Post ;  no 
lord  of  the  bedchamber  starts  for  Newmarket  with 
a  danseuse  in  his  carriage,  and  her  whole  family 
in  his  train  ;  our  parliamentary  leaders  do  not  dis- 
sipate their  best  energies  at  the  gaming-table ;  our 
privy  councillors  do  not  attend  cock-fights ;  and 
among  the  many  calumnies  levelled  at  our  public 
men,  not  one  has  been  accused  (as  General  Bur- 
goyne  was  by  Junius)  of  Ij'ing  in  wait  for  inexpe- 
rienced lads  to  plunder  at  play. 

Though  the  signs  are  less  marked,  the  improve- 
ment in  the  female  sex  is  not  less  certain ;  for  it 
may  safely  be  taken  for  granted,  that  the  practice  of 
gambling  was  fraught  with  the  worst  consequences 
to  the  finest  feelings  and  best  qualities  of  the  sex. 
The  chief  danger  is  hinted  at  in  The  Provoked  Hus- 
band. 

''•Lord  Toivnley.  'Tis  not  jour  ill  hours  that  always  dis- 
turb me,  but  .as  often  the  ill  companj  that  occasion  tho.-.c 
hours. 

"  Lady  Towjiley.  Sure  I  don't  understand  you  now,  my 
lord.     What  ill  company  do  I  keep?  " 


ESSAYS    AXD   SKETCHES.  449 

'■'■Lord  Townlcy.  Why,  at  best,  women  that  lose  theit 
money,  and  men  that  win  it;  or  perhaps  men  that  are  vol- 
untarily bubbles  at  one  game,  in  hopes  a  lady  zv ill  give  them 
fair  flay  at  another." 

The  facts  confirm  the  theory.  Walpole's  Letters, 
and  the  volumes  before  us,  teem  with  allusions  to 
proved  or  understood  cases  of  matrimonial  infidelity  ; 
and  the  manner  in  which  notorious  irregularities 
were  brazened  out,  shows  that  the  otVendcrs  did  not 
always  encounter  the  universal  reprobation  of  society. 
Miss  Berry,  speaking,  in  her  very  instructive  book, 
of  the  Duchess  of  Norfolk's  divorce  in  1697,  ob- 
serves, — 

"Many  circumstances  of  this  lady's  case  show  how  much 
the  ordinary  habits  of  life  were  overstepped,  and  what  pre- 
cautions were  tliought  necessary  previous  to  such  miscon- 
duct. A  house  taken  at  Lambeth,  then  a  small  and  little 
frequented  village,  whose  neare-t  communication  with  West- 
minster was  by  a  horse-ferry,  —  this  house,  hired  and  re- 
sorted to  under  feigned  names,  and  occupied  by  foreign  ser- 
vants, who,  it  was  supposed,  could  not  identify  the  lady,  arc 
not  measures  taken  in  a  country  where  the  crime  they  were 
meant  to  conceal  was  frequent."  —  England  and  France, 
vol.  !.,  p.  297. 

This  test  would  be  fatal  to  the  female  nobility  of 
England  half  a  century  later;  for  many  of  them 
took  no  pains  whatever  to  conceal  their  immoralities. 
We  arc  obliged,  from  obvious  motives,  to  rcfi  ain  from 
tncntioning  some  conclusive  instances  ;  but  it  is  noto- 
rious that  Lady  Vane  gave  Smollett  the  materials  for 
the  Memoirs  of  a  Lady  of  Qiiality  (herself)  published 
in  Peregrine  I*ickle  ;  that  Lady  Townshcud  sat  (per- 
haps not  so  willingly)  for  the  portrait  r>f  Lady  Bellas- 
ton  in  Tom  Jones ;  and  we  can  hardly  do  wrong  in 
copvin.;  a  note,  which  Lord  Dover  has  annexed  to 
29 


45©  THE   WISHING-CAP   PAPERS. 

the  name  of  a  Miss  Edwards,  in  his  edition  of  Wal- 
pole's  Letters  :  "■  Miss  Edwards,  an  unmarried  lady 
of  great  fortune,  who  (1742)  openly  kept  Lord  A. 
Hamilton," 

Gilly  Williams  mentions  a  caprice  of  a  more  re- 
spectable kind,  which  was  far  from  uncommon  at  the 
period :  — 

"Lord  Rockingham's  youngest  sister  has  just  married 
her  footman,  John  Sturgeon.  Surely  he  is  the  very  first  of 
that  name  that  ever  had  a  Right  Honorable  annexed  to  it. 
I  made  the  Duchess  of  Bedford  laugh  yesterday  with  the 
story  of  Lord  March's  handsome  Jack  wanting  to  go  to  live 
with  Lady  Harrington." 

.  •  ,  ■ 

"The  girls  talk  of  nothing  but  the   match  between  Lord 

RockingJTam's  sister  and  her  footman.     Never  so  much 

and  discretion  met  together;  for  she  has  entailed  her  for- 
tune with  as  much  circumspection  as  Lord  Mansfield  could 
have  done,  and  has  not  left  one  cranny  of  the  law  unstopped. 
They  used  to  pass  many  hours  together,  which  she  called 
teaching  John  the  mathematics." 

Unless  John  was  a  very  unapt  scholar,  he  must  soon 
have  become  as  worthy  an  object  of  a  lady's  favor,  so 
far  as  mental  culture  was  concerned,  as  Sir  John  Ger- 
maine ;  who,  after  occasioning  the  Duchess  of  Nor- 
folk's divorce,  rnarried  a  noble  heiress.  Lady  Betty 
Berkeley,  and  lived  till  the  middle  of  the  last  century. 
Miss  Berry  tells  us  that  he  actually  left  a  legacy  to  Sir 
Matthew  Decker,  under  a  belief  that  he  was  the  au- 
thor of  the  Gospel  of  St.  Matthew  I 

It  has  been  thought  by  some  that  we  have  lost  in 
grace  what  we  have  gained  in  decency,  and  that  so- 
ciety is  no  longer  so  gay,  easy,  accomplished,  or 
even  lettered,  as  it  used  to  be.  Miss  Berry,  though 
she  commends  the  fashion  which  encouraged  occupa- 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  45 1 

tion  and  mental  acquirements,  cannot  refrain  from  a 
sly  sarcasm  at  the  ''new  prodigies,  who  were  already 
great  orators  at  Eton,  and  profound  politicians  before 
they  left  Christ-church  or  Trinity,"  —  the  gentlemen 
to  whom  "  it  was  easier  to  be  foolishly  bustling  than 
seriously  employed ; "  and  Mr.  Moore  maintains  a 
yet  more  startling  doctrine  :  "  Without  any  disparage- 
ment of  the  many  and  useful  talents  which  are  at 
present  nowhere  more  conspicuous  than  in  the  upper 
ranks  of  societ}',  it  may  be  owned,  that  for  wit,  social 
powers,  and  literary  accomplishments,  the  political 
men  of  the  period  under  consideration  (1780)  formed 
such  an  assemblage  as  it  would  be  flattery  to  say  that 
our  times  can  parallel.  The  natural  tendency  of  the 
French  revolution  was  to  produce  in  the  higher  classes 
of  England  an  increased  reserve  of  manner,  and  of 
course  a  proportionate  restraint  on  all  within  their 
circle,  which  have  been  fatal  to  conviviality  and  hu- 
mor, and  not  very  propitious  to  wit  —  subduing  both 
manners  and  conversation  to  a  sort  of  polished  level, 
to  rise  above  which  is  often  thought  almost  as  vulgar 
as  to  sink  below  it.  Of  the  greater  ease  of  manners 
that  existed  some  forty  or  fifty  years  ago,  one  trifling, 
but  not  the  less  significant,  indication  was  the  habit, 
then  prevalent  among  men  of  iiigh  station,  of  calling 
each  other  by  such  familiar  names  as  Dick,  Jack, 
Tom,  &c.,  &c.  — a  mode  of  address  that  brings  with 
it  in  its  very  sounrl  the  notion  of  conviviality  and  play- 
fulness, and,  however  unrcfin^'d,  implies  at  least  that 
ease  and  sea-room  in  which  wit  spreads  its  canvas 
most  fearlessly."  —  Life  of  Sheridan. 

VVc    difler,  with   unfeigned    reluctance,  from    Mr. 


452  THE    WISHING-CAP    PAPERS. 

Moore  ;  but  he  is  surely  mistaken  in  supposing  that 
the  higher  classes  of  England  have  contracted  an 
increased  reserve  of  manner  in  consequence  of  the 
French  revolution,  or  shown  more  anxiety  on  that 
account  to  intrench  themselves  within  the  privileges 
of  their  rank.  On  the  contrary,  the  tendency  of  that 
event,  and  our  own  reform  bill,  was  and  is  to  make 
them  more  anxious  to  identify  themselves  in  feeling 
and  interest  with  the  people.  If  they  have  ceased  to 
be  familiar,  it  is  because  they  have  ceased  to  be  ex- 
clusive ;  restraint  is  necessary,  because  society  is 
mixed  ;  and  there  is  no  reason  why  men  of  rank 
should  change  their  mode  of  address  to  men  of  rank, 
except  that  they  live  less  witli  one  another,  and  more 
with  the  world  at  large.  The  very  peculiarity  in 
question  was  observed  by  Mrs.  Trollope  in  the  most 
exclusive  coterie  in  Europe,  the  crime  de  la  crime  of 
Vienna.  "All  the  ladies  address  each  other  by  their 
Christian  names,  and  you  may  pass  evening  after 
evening,  surrounded  by  princesses  and  countesses, 
without  ever  hearing  any  other  appellations  than 
Therese,  Flora,  Laura,  or  Pepe." 

This  may  be  very  agreeable  for  the  privileged  few, 
and  we  readily  admit  that  intimacy  is  a  great  pro- 
moter of  humor.  Few  of  Selwyn's  bon-mots  could 
have  been  hazarded  at  a  mixed  party.  But  we  are 
as  far  as  ever  from  admitting  Mr.  Moore's  proposition 
in  the  main.  It  is  not  flattery,  but  sober  truth,  to  say 
that  our  public  men  have  contracted  no  reserve  beyond 
that  which  the  voluntary  enlargement  of  their  circle 
has  entailed  upon  them.  It  would  be  difficult  to  con- 
tend that  they  have  impaired  their  social  powers  by 


ESSAYS    AND    SKETCHES.  453 

mixing  with  eminent  authors,  men  of  science,  and 
artists,  whatever  influence  these  may  have  exercised 
upon  their  wit  or  humor ;  and,  even  as  regards  wit 
or  humor,  it  would  simply  be  necessary  to  run  over  a 
few  known  names  to  vindicate  our  equality  in  both. 
Modern  conversation  is  rich  with  the  product  of  every 
soil,  the  spoils  of  every  clime  ;  and  it  would  be  a 
grave  error  to  suppose  that  those  who  contribute  most 
to  it  seldom  meet  in  intimacy.  They  meet  very  often, 
but  they  belong  to  several  coequal  and  intersecting 
circles,  instead  of  keeping  to  one,  and  making  that 
the  sole  object  of  interest. 

There  are  signs,  moreover,  that  he  who  runs  may 
read.  It  is  clear  that  they  talk  politics  as  much  as 
we  do  ;  perhaps  more,  since  their  eagerness  was  so 
manifest  to  a  French  woman.  "  Madame  de  Bouf- 
flers  (writes  Williams  in  1763)  is  out  of  patience  with 
our  politics,  and  our  ridiculous  abuse  of  every  person 
who  either  governs  or  is  likely  to  govern  us."  This 
was  a  serious  drawback,  but  not  the  most  serious. 
Sclwyn's  principal  correspondents  were  not  dandies 
and  fine  ladies,  Init  tlie  most  cultivated  men  and 
women  of  the  higliest  class;  including  several  on 
whom  Mr.  Moore  would  rely,  if  we  came  to  a  di- 
vision on  the  question.  The  masterpieces  of  Englisli 
light  literature,  and  several  other  standard  works,  a]> 
jxrared  during  their  correspondence.  Yet  iieitlier  Field- 
ing, Richardson,  Stnulictt,  Gray,  Goldsniitii,  Hume, 
Robertson,  Johnson,  Gibbon,  or  even  IJurke,  elicits  a 
remark.  There  is  one  allusion  to  Garrick  (by  Rigby)  ; 
one  to  Reynolds  (by  Lord  Carlisle)  ;  and  one  to 
Gainsborough  (by  Gilly  Williams),  as  "the   painter 


454  THE    WISMING-CAP    PAPERS. 

by  whom,  if  you  remember,  we  once  saw  the  carica- 
ture of  old  Winchelsea." 

There  was  no  want  of  classical  acquirement,  it  is 
true  ;  many  wrote  graceful  verses  ;  and  Fox  and  Wal- 
pole  had  a  taste  for  contemporary  literature  ;  but  Fox 
kept  it  to  himself  for  lack  of  sympathy,  and  Walpole 
was  ashamed  of  it.  By  literature,  however,  must  be 
understood  merely  the  Belles  Lettres ;  for  Fox  con- 
fessed, late  in  life,  that  he  had  never  been  able  to  get 
through  the  Wealth  of  Nations. 

Familiarity,  again,  is  a  great  charm,  but  the  habits 
which  are  the  conditions  of  its  existence,  beget  mo- 
notony. In  Charles  the  Second's  reign,  when  it  was 
the  foshion  to  go  to  sea  and  fight  the  Dutch,  instead 
of  taking  lodgings  at  Melton  or  attending  Battues, 
Sheffield,  Duke  of  Buckingham,  tells  us  in  his  Mem- 
oirs, that  a  party  of  gay,  witty,  lettered  profligates 
were  becalmed  on  board  the  Duke  of  York's  ship, 
and  2fot  so  tired  of  one  another,  that  the  first  care  each 
took  on  landing  was  to  ascertain  where  the  rest  were 
going,  in  order  to  get  away  from  them.  We  are  not 
aware  whether  the  habituts  of  White's  or  Brookes', 
seventy  or  eighty  years  ago,  were  ever  brought  to 
such  a  pass;  but  we  know  (and  there  is  no  getting 
over  this)  that  they  habitually  resorted  to  the  gaming- 
table, — 

"  Unknown  to  such,  when  sensual  pleasures  cloy. 
To  fill  the  languid  pause  with  finer  joy." 

With  rare  exceptions,  the  most  accomplished  per- 
sons, about  to  risk  more  than  they  can  aObrd  to  lose, 
will  be  found  both  ill  disposed  and  ill  qualified  for 
the  easy,  equable  enjoyment  of  conversation  ;  though 


ESSAYS   AND    SKETCHES.  455 

(with  the  aid  of  wine)  they  may  have  their  occasional 
bursts  of  sparkling  pleasantry. 

To  sum  up  all  —  there  is  a  halo  floating  over  cer- 
tain periods  ;  dazzling  associations  may  cluster  round 
a  name:  "'tis  distance  lends  enchantment  to  the 
view  ; "  and  living  witnesses,  who  have  known  both 
generations,  will  always,  by  a  law  of  our  nature, 
award  the  palm  to  the  companions  of  their  youth. 
But  it  will  require  stronger  arguments  than  have  been 
add^uced  yet  to  convince  us  that  the  social  powers  of 
any  class  have  fallen  off,  whilst  morality,  taste,  knowl- 
edge, general  freedom  of  intercourse,  and  liberality 
of  opinion,  have  been  advancing;  or  that  the  mind 
necessarily  loses  any  portion  of  its  playfulness,  when 
it  quits  the  enervating  atmosphere  of  idleness  and 
dissipation  for  the  purer  air  and  brighter  skies  of 
art,  literature,  and  philosophy. 


■J        i 


i   .;     1 


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